(I) - The Mad Game
by PhantomStag458
Summary: A continuation of the novel Fifteen Hours, detailing the frontline experiences of a young soldier named Larn. During his tour across the Imperium and his struggle to keep his body and mind whole, he finds that not everything is as clear cut as good against evil. Consequently, the lines between friend and foe slowly begin to blur.
1. Chapter 1

**Broucheroc, No-Man's Land**

Dawn brought the mud-soaked realisation that I was not dead, even after I had willed the powers that be to accept my lame body after it had beaten the fifteen hours. _You did it, James_. _You proved them wrong. You won._

" _Mum?_ " I rasped. Underneath my fractured body armour, the blood-soaked dressings I had stuffed against the wound in the small of my back bulged. Half-submerged in the sticky grey mud, I gouged out handfuls of the stuff, lifting my head up from the mess that dragged me down like a quagmire. Muck dripped from the rim of my steel pot. I blinked, wiping my chilled face against my shoulder, the stained cotton damp with mud and moisture.

Memories of the lander, the flight to the trenches, the Vardans, Sergeant Chelkar and the officer; the latter of whom led me and others in to no-man's land, came flooding back. The contact with the Ork warparty scattered us. There had been no pain when I had taken the slug, just a quick loss of feeling in my legs and the ground rushing up to gather me in its embrace. Now, I was a disembodied torso with only my head and arms. _Throne of Terra, where are my legs?_ I prodded two lengths of meat that stuck out behind my body. Rolling on to my back, I tried lifting my leg, even wiggling my toes. Pressing a blood and mud-stained glove to my mouth, I held back a sob. _My spine? Please, no._

Well over the western horizon now, the sun's rays crept over the uneven mounds dotted with barbed wire, half-submerged tank traps, and the bodies of greenskins killed in the previous days' fighting. Boots and arms stuck up at bizarre angles; the product of rigor. Severed limbs, torsos and heads coated with dried blood. Arm over arm, I hauled myself through the mud. _If I beat the fifteen hours and I'm still here, why can't I beat death too?_

I bellied towards a mound of recently thrown up mud that provided cover from the east. Pressing myself against the slope, I risked a look over the top. Ruined buildings dotted the uneven skyline, looking something like a mouth filled with broken old teeth. _How far is that. Three, four-hundred yards?_

I turned to the west, wondering how far away the Ork lines were. My hobnailed boot slipped on a soft piece of mud, whereupon I slid backwards down the slope, landing in a shallow pool of icy water. Cursing quietly, I wiped my hands on my jacket and spat on the ground, dragging my body out of the water. The thin, dehydrated globule of spit ran down the slope and found a home in one of the many tiny holes gouged in the mud before trickling down to become one with the muddy water. _No use hiding here. I need to get back and tell the sergeant what happened. Head east, James._ Two dead limbs trailing behind me, I cut channels through the muck with my gloves, using the temporary handholds to pull myself along, a slithering, mud-spattered adder in body armour and hard cover. Debris from the lander was scattered everywhere. New holes had been dug by both sides' artillery. Twenty, thirty feet wide in some cases and without a drop of water to speak of. I scrambled in to one such crater, rolled down the slope and climbed the opposite side just high enough to put my face to the rim. Just outside my reach lay a dead Vardan. Edging out of the crater, and keeping as low as possible I reached out to grasp the dead man's leg, pulling on it. I managed to shift him only after hauling backwards on both ankles. Both sides of the Vardan's greatcoat rode upwards, exposing flared breeches and tall leather boots. _The lieutenant! What was his name?_ The smooth leather slipped out of my grasp when the officer grunted.

" _Ssh. Beg pardon, sir. Got to be quiet now_ ," I breathed.

"Who?" the lieutenant croaked.

"Larn, sir."

"…Larn."

"Sorry, sir. I'm pulling you down in the hole."

"Take off." The lieutenant bit down on a moan. Blood had spread from a foot-long gash in his side, turning the dark grey of his greatcoat black.

"Can't, sir, sorry."

Groaning, I got ahold of the lieutenant's knees and brought him over the lip and down to rest upon the slope. Panting, I flopped down on to my back beside him.

"God-Emperor, I'm sorry for hauling you poor boys out here," the lieutenant slurred, removing his fur hat and placing it beside himself. "Damn foolish idea."

 _Boys?_ Pimples and freckles stood out on the lieutenant's face. Bareheaded, his bright red hair stood out boldly from his chalk-white skin. "Mmm. You listening to me, young Larn?"

The lieutenant's soft, white gloves gathered up the dried creases on my sleeve and held on. "Yes, sir, I'm listening."

"Return my maps, identity tags, and letter to battalion headquarters. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you hit?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where?"

"Me back, sir. Can't walk. Can't feel anything below the waist."

"What?"

"'Ere." I removed my six-inch Triplex-pattern bayonet from its sheath and prodded my right thigh. "Nothin', sir. Can't feel nothing."

"I'd be careful where you stick that, Private." The lieutenant smiled. "A very important part of your body there…"

"The – the…"

"Fem – femoral artery. God-Emperor, what did they teach you in training?"

"Femoral artery?"

"Yes, that's it. It gives blood to your leg. There's one in each. Here's a pointer. Don't get hit there. D'you see where I'm pointing?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Good lad." The lieutenant found my shoulder and rubbed it. "You know, nobody at battalion headquarters listened to me. Nobody up on the line with the companies listened to me. Only you, Larn. Only you listened to me."

"Yes, sir."

"I th – I thought we might pray together, you and I."

"Sir?"

"Yes. Off the record, you know. Can't be seen fraternising with a humble private now, can I?"

"No, sir."

"I think the Prayer of Relief from Torment is presently appropriate…"

That very same prayer I knew off by heart, yet refused to recite it before, believing I was bound for the life after death. Of course, now I knew it was not my death, but his. With a tightening throat, I murmured along with the lieutenant, his voice gradually softening.

" _Important_." He whispered, pressing a handful of papers he had held inside his coat against me.

"Yes, sir." I swallowed, wiping the back of my glove underneath my running nose.

" _Most important_." The lieutenant pulled his pair of identity disks over his head and, with a sealed letter, gave them both to me.

"I'll see 'em back safely, sir."

"You promise me." The young man gripped my knee. "Promise me."

"Promise, sir."

"Cross your heart and hope to die for the Emperor."

"Cross my 'eart, sir…"

"Aah, good." The lieutenant's drooping eyelids fluttered. "Look at that up there. It's dawn."

Such was his peacefulness, I might have mistaken the officer for simply dozing off. He just slipped away without fuss. _I hope I go as calmly as you do, sir_ , I thought, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. With the officer's papers stuffed inside my flak jacket, I dug my elbows in to the mud, pushing myself off. What sounded like a tablecloth slithering across the ground drained the life from my arms. Letting myself go, I hugged the slope, lifting a fur flap that hung over one ear. Nothing. A pause then a slither. It was only for a second then silence came once more. _Ork sniper?_ Yesterday's brush with a greenskin sharpshooter was branded in my mind, only this time I was quite likely to be on the receiving end of Vardan marksmanship if the pest didn't move on. _Go away. Please go away_.

No joy. The dragging cape came closer, rasping as it touched rusted iron rails welded in to tank traps. _Begging your pardon, sir._ I rolled sideways, hitting the lieutenant's body and pulling it on top of me. His fading warmth smothered me. The pressure on the old dressings grew. With naught but a crack to see through, I relaxed my body and waited. A bundle of rags swathed in a mud-camouflaged cape teetered on the lip of the shell hole, edging its way down past me to lie up on the opposite slope. The soft slice of a blade cutting a trench in the mud for the sniper's muzzle set my teeth on edge. Not a single growl or grunt had slipped from the Ork's lipless mouth. Without the cape betraying it, I would have heard nothing. The sawing of the blade dying away, I shut my eyes when a sniffling drifted over. _Dead men don't shut their eyes!_ The lieutenant's warm body, forcing my own deeper in to the mud, drew the frantic sniffs. A pitter-patter of feet and a foreign weight squeezed my chest, trapping the air in my lungs. Delving deep inside the officer's chest, the Ork blade cut through buttons, fur and fabric, tearing through the layers underneath, parting skin and puncturing organs as it was sawn up and down. Tears dribbled from my eyes. From both sides of the lieutenant's body, blood poured, mixing with the mud. A different liquid expelled itself from the officer's bowls, warming his breeches. _Do bodies do that when they died? Lose every last scrap of waste inside?_

Frozen underneath the piss and blood-stained corpse, I listened to the Ork return to its position. Were it not for the lieutenant's bulk, I could not have kept a lid on my yammering heartbeat, thumping to the tune of half a dozen stubbers on a mad minute. I expected the beast to lay up for the day, only realising it had crawled off when the patient huffs receded. _One-thousand, two-thousand, three-thousand…_

Losing track and patience after a time, I thrust the body off, straightening out the creases around my crotch. Not a speck of urine had leaked through to my trousers or jacket. Both articles were Jumael-issue, olive-grey and, as yet, unbroken. Gasping, I patted my torso legs and arms. _My legs. Nothing damaged? Good._

Losing no time, I wriggled in the opposite direction of the Ork. With no cape to speak of, I wormed my way as low as I could in to the mud, so low my chin gathered up a mound in front of it which threatened to invade my mouth. Spitting, I chopped the tiny hill down.

From the heavens, the sigh of the heavy guns, beginning their opening piece, hurled invisible train cars through the air. _A very good morning to you, Broucheroc_ , one side waved.

 _The sun is shining and the corpses are fresh for the maggots to chew today. Will you partake in my hymn, dear friend?_ The other side replied with its own bombastic string of four-tonne trucks, chained together as they rocketed upwards in an arc to drop down upon the Ork lines.

 _I wonder if either side knows why they're still shooting off rounds. For the hell of it? What could another day's bombardment do that ten years hasn't already done?_

Reluctant to answer my internal ponderings, the gods of war gleefully bashed away at one another, blind to the struggle of the little people below. _Little boy lost. A lost soldier dragging half his body behind him. No, I'm not going to be a lost soldier, not like…_

Their names on my lips, I came upon the first olive grey body. Spying the bullet-scarred, shrapnel-riddled, and smouldering lander on my right, I retraced the first steps I took upon leaving the lander the day before, crawling upon the path I had fled along. _Leden, Hallan, Vorrans_ , _lying out here with the rest of them_. _Jenks, his severed tongue lying on the deck at his feet. The company commander, Vinters; a broken neck. Ferres, our platoon sergeant, electrocuted before even setting foot on the ground. Me. Arvin James Larn, 84593820, eighteen, clueless and dickless. Could I trouble you to let me join my mates?_ I asked the God-Emperor. _Did you forget me?_

Pausing next to a Jumael, I touched the edge of the lad's collar, poking out above his flak jacket. _No, I can't take all their tags. What would I do with 199 pairs of identity disks?_ Paying silent respects to the Jumaels who had gone down without seeing the enemy or even firing a single shot, I crawled through the macabre scene, plotting a course to take me to safety. _I'm sorry, lads. Feel like I let you all down there._

Aside from the incessant back-and-forth between the big guns, no small-arms spat particle beams, bolter shells, or lobbed mortar rounds at me. No-man's land stood still.

"Help. Help me," I called, as loudly as I dared, towards the trenches. "Please."

Cartwheeling through the air, a stick grenade landed in front of me, its pull-cord dangling from the open handle. Shoving at the ground, I rolled sideways, over and over, dropping in to a hole. Bursting above my head, the fist of shrapnel showered me with scalding fragments, filling the hole with smoke.

"Help!" I tugged my chinstrap off, lifting up my fur-lined pot and waving it in the air. "Please."

A shot cleaved the steel in two, tearing it from my hand. "Ow!" I shook my smarting hand, kicking the useless cover away. "Please. No more!"

"Shut up and crawl over here," a voice replied.

"Huh?"

"Crawl over here quietly."

 _No apology?_ Swearing under my breath, I clawed through the steaming muck, making ground level.

"Get in here now!" A Vardan growled.

 _Trigger-happy bastards._ I slipped underneath a coil of barbed wire, sliding the last few feet to where hands beckoned from the trench.

"Steady." A bearded Vardan, passing his lasgun to another, reached out and pulled me in by my forearms. "I gotcha. Put your legs down."

"Can't."

"Put your legs down, boy." The Vardan shook me roughly. "Don't be wet. You're alright."

"Can't walk."

"Stronne, the boy's hit." The Vardan's mate drew a circle in the air around the torn fibres of my flak jacket. "Zipped in the back panel."

"Move your legs," the Vardan holding me said.

"Can't."

"Reckon it's his spine." The other flicked his forefinger at my leg. "Feel anything?"

"Nah. Nothing."

"Alright, stretcher! Can we have a stretcher up here?"

Calls for stretcher-bearers were passed back through the winding trench. Holding me in a tight cuddle, the Vardan ensured I remained upright, never letting go of me. "Hold on, little lad. Be out of here soon, now."

"Make way there. Stretcher coming through!" A pair of Vardans medics, gaunt and unshaven as the rest of their compatriots, brought forward a folded stretcher. "Where's the wounded?" one asked.

"Right here, Scabbers. Careful with the little rake."

Hands underneath my arms and legs placed me upon the thin canvas. "Go easy there. He looks like he'll fall apart if you so much as look at him." My rescuer loomed above me, a craggy smile breaking out. "Safe and sound now."

"Where'd he come from?" One of the stretcher-bearers muttered.

"Dunno. All skin and bones. Don't reckon he'll pull through ol' Sawbones' hacksaw if he starts chopping."

Pale faces with black beards swam around above me, giving remarks of curiosity and concern. Who was this wastrel of a boy who had dragged himself in from no-man's land? Shutting my eyes and ears to the questions, I finally granted myself escape from the muddy hell, and passed out.

* * *

Dim scraps of flesh with beards attached roved around my vision. Submerged in a bed of water, I came and went, never really aware of what was going on around me, or where I was, just aware; if only for short periods. _I'm on my back. I'm on my front_. _Who's turning me around?_ _Just leave me alone!_

A grinning madman dangled a pendulum above me, shaking it emphatically. _Your clock is ticking, boy_.

 _Go away._ I pawed at the pendulum with a limp hand. _I don't care. I beat your sodding fifteen hours. I'm not playing anymore._

"…He doesn't want it." The grinning madman's face lost the manic, toothy grin.

"Just dump it on his cot. He'll find it."

"Shouldn't we say hello at least?"

"Well, maybe…"

"He has put his time in. Give him a kiss, Bull."

The madman, the Vardan I recognised as Bulaven, bent low over me, slapping something in my hand, grinning. "Well done, Larn. That is your name, isn't it? This is a Wounded Lion. Grunts who've taken lead and lived earn these by the dozen. You are a grunt now. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. We'll see you soon."

When the voices died away, I let go of the round piece of metal I had in my warm palm, catching sight of the red ribbon before it slipped down in to the folds of the wool blanket covering me, falling asleep soon after. I measured time only by the periods of darkness and light around me. The wind often shook the canvas roof above my head, sneaking over the threshold and tormenting me with chill tendrils. Tremors from the artillery shook the bed supports beneath me, a constant reminder that no, Broucheroc was not a horrid nightmare. The nightmare was real. I would not be waking to the sound of Corporal Ferrik's grating voice or, Emperor-forbid, Sergeant Ferres. _At least the Vardans don't belt out everything to me at the tops of their voices. I had enough of that in Phase One._

During a period of light – daytime going by my roughed-up bodyclock – a new face wavered above me.

"Feeling better, young man?" A Vardan with a trimmed beard smiled down at me. "You've had a time up on the line, haven't you?"

"…Water."

"Sorry. I'll fetch you a jug."

The medical orderly came back presently with a metal flask. "Thought I recognised you, young man. Jumael regiment, wasn't it? Read about your lot in the paper a week ago."

 _A week ago. How long have I been here?_

"I'm Svenk." The MO tilted my head up and brought the flask up to my lips. "Larn, isn't it? We've got your tags with us. Passed those documents your officer had back to HQ too."

"How long?" I whispered.

"How long have you been here? Eleven days now."

"Eleven days…"

"Some Alpha Company dropped in last week."

"Bulaven?"

"Not sure. Probably."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, I'm no sir anymore. Everyone knows everyone 'round here by now. Call me Doc."

"Thank you, Doc." I swallowed, letting my head drop against my pillow.

"Take it easy, Larn. Be back on your feet in no time."

"Where am I?"

"Cain Med – 943rd Forward Medical Company attached to Twelfth Brigade Headquarters. The rear to you grunts."

"Mmm…" I pointed a finger at my legs.

"Well, the good news is we removed the splinter from your back and sewed you up. Took a tiny chip off your spine. You'll be up and walking in a week."

Hearing Svenk speak so matter-of-factly dropped a bundle of warmth inside me. "I'm… I'm gonna be alright?" I gripped the blanket with sweating hands.

"Yeah." Svenk nodded. "Be glad to see you up and about soon."

"Aw, cheers for everything, Doc." I pulled an approximation of a smile. "Thought I'd come a cropper."

"Tougher than you look. Surprised us all, I can say." Svenk patted me on the shoulder. "All I can say is rest up. You'll find some feeling in your toes soon. From then on it's downhill all the way."

On my sixteenth day of convalescence, I was wiggling my toes. Two days after that I could twitch my kneecaps. Then, on the twenty-first day, I was pronounced fit once more and ordered to leave Cain Med. Putting my woollen socks upon the cold decking underneath my bed, I winced at the rush of pressure upon my soles. Some kind soul, probably Svenk, had left my hobnailed boots and short puttees underneath. Hanging from a hook upon a nearby post was my OG jacket. Of the Vardan gear I had been issued on my first day, there was no sign.

"Sorry about turfing you out this soon." Svenk appeared, leaning against the pole my jacket was hanging on. "I'd have kept you another week at least, but we're clearing house for fresh cases today."

In the middle of winding my woollen puttees above my boots, I nodded. "I can walk alright now."

"Here. Light it up outside, not in here." Svenk passed a cigarette to me. "No smoking indoors."

"Ta." I pocketed the cigarette and finished winding my puttees. "Have you got any jobs 'ere you need doing?"

"You're Company Alpha now, aren't you?" Svenk folded his arms.

"Nah, I'm Fox Company, Jumael Fourteenth. I had about a day on the line with Alpha. Dunno if I'm still Fox or Alpha, or anything now really…"

The white crack where the two halves of the tent flaps met beckoned. Outside for me was uncharted territory. _Why can't I stick around and do jobs for Doc instead? It'll keep me away from the line._ Clasping my hands, I drummed a knee. "One man isn't gonna make a difference. Weren't even s'posed to be here…"

"I tell you what…" Svenk scratched at spot underneath his jaw. "You do a week's light detail here for me. After that I might see if the kitchen needs a washer. We're full up for dogsbodies here. Skilled surgeons are what we need really. D'you know anything about medical procedure?"

Glancing up at Svenk, I shook my head. _Sorry, Doc. I can just about put a plaster on._

"Stretcher-bearers are sought after. You'd be back-and-forth between here and the line during battle but not engaged in it. If you don't want to go back to Alpha I guess that's fine." Svenk lifted the sole of his boot and checked it. "Since you don't report to anyone you're sort of at a free reign to do anything you please, as long as it's productive."

"Can I give you an answer at the end of the week?"

"That's fine." Svenk unhooked my jacket and passed it to me. "Might want to find yourself some of our gear. Rule of thumb here: if you see green shoot it."

Bobbing my head, I glanced inadvertently at the tent ceiling as a series of huge blasts shook my chest, ducking when railway cars barrelled overhead.

"Outgoing."

"How d'you tell the difference?"

"You hear the guns going off first. That's that judder you feel in your chest. Outgoing is louder than incoming. It's nice. Not really much you can do about incoming if it's coming down on your head. You don't hear it. That's all I can say. Can't complain because it's quick."

Svenk offered me a hand. "C'mon, up you come, Larn."

 _He didn't call me New Fish_.

"Nope. Wetnose no longer. You've bled and bathed in the blood of the enemy. Welcome to Bastille." Svenk pulled me to my feet, shaking my hand warmly.

"Bastille?" I probed up and down by back for the rough patch of flesh the surgeons had sealed after digging the splinter out.

"Bastille Seven-Three, to give you it's proper name. And, I can tell you, we're in a place called Butcher's Rock. Broucheroc just came around after we got here."

 _Butcher's Rock. Bloody hell…_ A loud gurgle came from my stomach.

"Oh, sorry. I probably shouldn't have mentioned that." Svenk looked away. "Um, let's get started, shall we? The urine bottle needs emptying."

* * *

I learned very quickly to carry the urine bottle discreetly, else the Vardans in worse condition than I had been would all express their need to use it. My first look at the rear consisted of me leaving Cain Med and nearly walking smack-bang in to a concrete wall. Nothing more than seven feet high and ten feet wide, the partition was part of a narrow boundary of similar concrete structures protecting Cain Med from incoming rounds. These guarded tents were arranged in ordered rows, raised from the hard-packed earth by decking driven in to the ground by pegs. The pathways offered the only safe means of passage above the patches of ice that dotted the earth. At the centre of the tent city was a hexagonal building – one that looked a good deal more permanent and secure than the tents. Outside the sandbagged entryway was a sign: _1/902 Vardan Rifles_.

 _Battalion Headquarters. Was that where the lieutenant came from?_

Engulfed in low-hanging clouds, Battalion's scrap of land was an island held in a freezing limbo. A far cry from the splendid sunrise that had bathed Butcher's Rock on my crawl to safety, I could see only about one-hundred feet in every direction. The sun was a coin-sized orb whose warmth was curbed by the oppressive clouds and general chill in the air. _What a gloomy place. Can't believe the rest of the battalion are off on Seltura Seven or wherever. And all I've got for heat is this bottle of piss._ Not even the fleeting heat stayed with me. I poured the entire contents on to the ground, stretching my aching back. _Throne, it's cold above ground_. Down in the trenches there existed a collective warmth of unwashed bodies. Of course, it smelt terribly, but it was warm too, and even comfortable in some places if one felt like a group huddle.

"Empty?" Svenk asked when I returned the urine bottle to him. At my little nod, Svenk told me to head off and find some extra clothing. "Stay away from the Munitorum stockpiles. They shoot at those without signed permission from an officer. Just ask around. Someone will be able to help you out."

I'd have preferred to stay in the warmth of Cain Med, truth be told. No vacant seats graced my vision, inviting me over to bring warmth to the cold surface, leaving me standing without purpose, and on the short track for interception by one of the other MOs, who'd snap me up and throw me out in to the street. As it happened, the street was where I ended up anyway. Thrusting my hands in my trouser pockets, I turned my collar up and wandered along the decking, quickly losing sight of Cain Med and other landmarks I had used to find my way around First Battalion's area. Persistently clinging to Butcher's Rock, the low cloud made phantoms of the Vardans, who drifted through in pairs, threesomes, and groups.

"Anywhere I can get hat and gloves?" I stopped a pair of Vardans wearing soft fur hats with dangling earflaps. Neither made a comment, stepping away from me without even making eye contact. "Clobber. No…?"

Dragging my feet through the thin mud, I cupped my hands and blew inside them, rubbing the backs together to find some warmth. Once more, my stomach began to growl. If food was available, it was in liquid form, with meagre pieces of what I assumed was meat. It was only Svenk's generosity that allowed me to even consume that. _How do these lot survive on so little?_

Many blank expressions and biting insults later, I was grabbed by the arm by a Vardan whom I hadn't seen. "You want to be issued a new uniform?"

"Uh, n-no, I just… gloves, hat, coat. I'm cold."

"Tough. Nobody issues nothing anymore." The Vardan, red-haired, unlike most of his comrades, dragged me away with him. "What you do – you listening to me?"

"Um, yeah."

"What you do is you ditty-bop through the slop to Cain Med. We're Third Battalion here. Outside of Cain Med will be a pile of gear the medics will have stripped off a dying grunt. While Sawbones and his scab-lifters cut the grunt up, you steal his gear. Take his jacket, take his gloves, take his cover, take his picture of the girl he stole from another grunt who claimed it was his girlfriend then jerk off to it till you drop. D'you get that?"

"I g—I get that. Yeah…"

"Need to flush out your headgear most kosh, boy. Get with the programme – my programme – or find yourself in a world of shit – there." The Vardan, still gripping my arm, pointed out the Third Battalion C-Med tent. Lined up outside it were belt kits, fur-lined jackets, flak vests, covers, and small-arms. "Double over there. Take what you need then get out. Don't let yourself get caught."

Feet skidding over the icy ground, I toppled over the piles of kit, landing flat. In that second, the Vardan had taken off, leaving me by myself. _Not my fight,_ I thought, looking over the various models of lasguns and laspistols piled messily at the end of the row. Sniffing the stains upon a grey parka, I ran my hand through the fur lining, unfolding a large hood, also fur-lined. The previous owner had taken two bullets in the back, leaving his blood behind as a reminder. _Poor fella. Forgotten, just like everyone else is on this planet. I hope you'd understand why I'm taking this._ Putting my arms through the sleeves, I tightened the drawstring around the waist to compensate for the larger sizing. Underneath the parka lay a pair of leather gloves and a fur cap with goggles attached. _Anything goes now, I guess._

"All good now?" Svenk looked me up and down on my eventual return to First Battalion Cain Med. "That's a major's flash on your arm…"

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know." I'd assumed the green bars and leaves were for branch of service, not rank.

"Just going to quickly…" Svenk unfolded a penknife and sliced through the stitching. "There." He placed the flash in my hand once he'd finished. "No harm done. Just not a good idea to be going around impersonating an officer; and a field-grade one at that."

"Erm, what should I…?"

"Oh, just keep it. No harm carrying it in your pocket. Right, now you're back you can get to work. Feel up for a light detail?"

* * *

The fresh flow of wounded that filled up the vacant beds in short order seemed odd if the Vardan divisions hadn't received replacements to fill out the combat outfits. The main cause of removal from the line stemmed from general exhaustion, low morale, or physical ailments; mostly Immersion Foot. Few cases were woundings as I noticed during the week I was working for Doc Svenk.

"Don't anybody get shot anymore?" I asked, after two cases of trench-foot were brought in and helped on to cots.

Wiping his hands on a rag, Svenk said, "that action you saw last month was Mister Green getting riled after your ship landed. It's very, very rare he actually assaults us in force now. I mean there's thousands of his dead mates lying out in the fields. His only boon is knowing that we're just as stuck as he is here. Stalemate's not a rosy prospect, I remember thinking back in my twenties. Still, that's what we got. Let's make the best of it."

The crowner on my last day at Cain Med came in the form of a projectile launched at the rear area by the Orks. The tell-tale moan of incoming I recognised now, leading me and two stretcher-bearers to rush against a dugout wall, our load of meds we had piled upon the stretcher flying everywhere in our haste to hug the non-existent cover. The earthy _thud_ the round gave sent a cry up from nearby Vardans, declaring it was a dud. One finger plugging my ear, I batted the earthy flecks away from my sleeve and bent to retrieve the scattered aid packets, grunting at the lance jabbing my back.

"Spore-carrier!" One of the Vardans next to me exclaimed.

 _Spore-carrier?_ The so-called dud round had dug a shallow crater in the middle of the street about forty feet behind us, wrecking a stretch of decking. Instead of the smoking shell pointing its arse-end skywards, the projectile was a ragged boulder that gave off a fine mist.

"Better be a sanitiser crew 'round here." The other Vardan gathered the packets up in a bundle and threw them back on the stretcher.

"Out of the street!" A voice shouted. "Make way there."

"Hurry up, boy."

"Sorry." I fumbled with the last few dressing bundles, tossing them with the other things.

"Right, let's go." The Vardans hoisted their ends up, leaving me scuttling alongside to catch any bits that fell at the wayside. Orders to clear the street behind us were given by Vardan noncoms that chivvied any inquisitive pairs of eyes away.

"Clear. She's live!" A pair of Vardans, one bearing a torch and backpack, the other lugging a fuel canister, halted twenty feet from the spore-carrier.

"Pick it up. Pick it up." One of the stretcher-bearers snarled, nudging a satchel bearing plasma with his boot. "Ignore 'em. Pick it up!"

The tips of my ears reddening, I scooped up the plasma and carried it with me.

" _Fucking idiot_." The other muttered.

With the throaty _whoosh_ of the flamethrower in my ears, I followed the Vardans back to Cain Med. Even from there the burning fuel still stunk.

Apologising to Svenk for the spilt supplies, something Svenk brushed off without concern, I voiced my curiosity on the spore-carrier.

"Orks secrete spores from their armpits, leave them everywhere they go. And if we leave them like that then they eventually grow in to mini-nippers that grow in to the Mister Green we know and love here. We operate a shoot first, shoot some more, scorched earth, satchel-charge-surprise, policy with the Orks." Svenk chortled. "Firm but fair. 'Cause anything we do to them… heh – well – pales compared to how they run their operations."

"Uhh…"

"I think we've got a good understanding of each other now. They respect us and… well, we respect them."

"But, they're animals. My lieutenant was…"

"Oh, sorry. I'm – I'm very sorry about your company. You got the wrong end of the muzzle there, Larn. Erm, how's your back?"

"Feeling better. Twinges now and again. Not sure I can touch my toes though…"

"Just make sure you don't put too much strain on your back. Bend your knees when you pick up heavy loads. You know…"

"Thanks, Doc." I shivered, rubbing underneath my nose.

"Time is it?" Svenk wiped the face of the chrono on his wrist. "Almost finished my shift. I've got something to show you afterwards. Stick around. Oi, don't look so worried, you'll like it."

Without any timekeeping device, I could only guess what time it was by the coming and going of the light. If so, it was very late when Svenk and his colleagues switched around with the night-shift.

"Alright, Larn. Sorry for keeping you waiting. We just needed the night shift to come to us first before we take off for the night." Svenk buttoned up his greatcoat and wrapped a black scarf around his neck.

"Them buttons down there…" I pointed at the lowest buttons on Svenk's jacket which he'd left unbuttoned.

"Just easier leaving them like that. Come on."

 _Why?_ Svenk guided me out of the tent and led me in the opposite direction of the billet. "Where we going?"

"Paying a house call. Sure she'd like to see you. You're a damn-sight fresher than the crusty old sods she normally sees."

"Who?"

"Camp-follower. It's a permanent residence but business is booming so HQ leaves it alone. Hah! They're the ones shunting it as well."

Untying the two ends of the cords attached to my earflaps, I brought them down to cover my ears, turning up my collar against the wind.

"You get used to it after a while. Summers at least. Right, let's hurry up here."

Leading me to a spot on the corner of a boundary wall, Svenk rapped upon a door of a bunker set partly underground. _One-two-three. One-two-three_. "S'alright. She knows me well enough." Svenk frowned. "Knows everybody well enough, I guess…"

"Um… I'm not sure I..."

"Oh, don't be shy. I'll let you go first." Svenk took me by the arm and brought me down inside the dugout, unwinding his scarf and passing that and his hat to me. "Evening, Veera."

 _Veera?_ I squinted at a hissing gas lamp as the owner lit it with a match. Painted, broken fingernails

"Who've you brought me there?" A woman spoke, her voice raspy as if ill with a throat infection. A lighter sparked a tiny flame, illuminating dry, yellowing skin and grey bags underneath a pair of bloodshot eyes. Thin strands of lank, unwashed hair, stuck together in clumps, hung down the woman's face.

"A young 'un. Needs to feel a woman's touch before he goes back on the line." Grinning at me, Svenk said, "Veera gives the best head on Bastille. Unless you'd prefer a man. We can arrange that."

"Half." Veera held out a podgy hand. "Be a nice chance from the usual hairy brutes I get down my way."

"No," I muttered. "I don't…"

"Uh-uh. After, you know the drill." Svenk patted his breast pocket. "I'll pay for two. He goes first."

"One hour. Two?"

"One for the both of us. Make it a quickie."

"Right, young man, sit yourself down and tell me what you want." Veera patted a cot covered in a ratty blanket.

"Larn, where you going?" Svenk stood back against the narrow tunnel, pointing a Veera. "She's the only…"

Throwing Svenk's hat back at him, I burst out in to the night air, pushing the door shut behind me.

 _God, no. Just no. I can't do it._ Pushing my hat upwards, I pressed a glove to my burning forehead. _It's wrong. It's all wrong. Everything about this place is wrong. Throne, I want to go home!_

Departing the bunker, I slapped myself in the face in an attempt to shunt away the images of what Svenk might have been doing with the decidedly unflattering woman. A pair of Vardans wearing facemasks marched straight out in front of me. Both carried slung lasguns. Seeing me, one unslung his weapon and clasped the stock underneath his armpit, training the muzzle on me. "Halt. ID, quick."

"Um, I – I didn't know we were s'posed…" I shrugged.

"Is that a Vardan uniform underneath?" The accoster pulled back my Parka and frisked the pockets of my jacket. "What unit are you?"

"F Company, Jumael Fourteenth."

"That's no real unit." The Vardan slapped me across the cheek. "Reckon he's simple. Isn't he simple?"

"Yuh-huh."

"No-no, I'm Alpha Company, First Battalion, 902 Rifles."

"Decided not to talk out of your arse now, boy?"

"Deserter, you reckon?"

"I was at Cain Med, doing jobs for Doc Svenk! I got hit in my spine. I've been in bed for three weeks."

"Well, why aren't you in your billet, boy? It's past curfew. Give me your ID."

"I don't have it. I don't have anything." I batted at the Vardan's probing, yelping when his gloved hand seized my groin.

"Extra-extra-small. Pathetic!" The Vardan laughed. "Lucky that. No girls for you to embarrass yourself in front of here!"

"Please."

"Oho, what's this?" The Vardan dug out the major's flash and Wounded Lion from my trouser pocket. "You've stolen from an officer, boy. We'll shoot you now for that. No thief deserves to keep his gong after that."

"I vote the pit." The other came over and prodded me in the belly with his muzzle. "Been empty for weeks. I feel a wager comin' on."

"Aah, got a point there. I'll round up some of the lads. Get the money flowing!"

"What's the pit?" I exclaimed, digging my heels in as the Vardans hustled me along. "I'm sorry. I was cold—" A jab from a gun-butt in the small of the back silenced me.

"We're all cold!"

Tottering in the Vardan's grasp, I screwed up my face, moaning at the needle driving through my spine.

"I'll warrant bet's will be how long he lasts. Not if he wins." One of the Vardans chuckled.

"Won't be nobody stupid enough to put cash on this whelp to win. It's the beast. Always the beast."

 _The beast?_

"Can't remember the last time it was fed. When was the last time?"

"Beats me. Does it matter?"

White and trembling, I gaped up at a long and low building complex with triangular outer surfaces and a flat roof. The few sentries we passed cracked jokes with my captors or otherwise threw friendly barbs their way. When questioned about me, the Vardans replied that I was a thief off to the pit.

"Bring yourself and your money. Bets are on how long he lasts!"

My captors halted on the spot, called to by an officer with an interest. "Where are you taking this boy, troopers?" The officer, in a fur-lined greatcoat and peaked cap, stalked over to us. "Well?"

"Sir." Both Vardans saluted, one doing so after exchanging the hand he held me by. "We found a thief. We're taking him to the pit."

"Oh." Raising his eyebrows, the officer sauntered away.

 _Isn't he going to do anything?_ I twisted my head around to stare at the officer's back. Dull eyes, full of apathy, ignored us on our route out of the very rearmost fortifications, past concrete gatehouses, barbed-wire fields, sandbagged artillery positions, and bunkers that generals skulked in, all the way back to the factories and refineries the Vardans were protecting. Smokestacks, scaffolding, piles of concrete and other industrial horrors were the products of ten years of on-off bombardment. How the manufactorums continued to produce war materiel was anyone's guess. Inside a rubble-strewn hallway and down a flight of concrete stairs was a cellar where, in an earthen chamber in the middle of construction, a deep pit took up the centre.

"Siddown, boy. We'll wait for the crowd."

Thrust on my knees next to the edge, I gulped at the black mouth staring back at me. It was thirty feet wide and looked bottomless. _So, where's this beast then?_

"Who's fighting tonight, then?" A gang of Vardans rolled in to the chamber, several toting bottles.

"Little prick here." A boot nudged my back.

"Him? Him!" Guffaws bounced around the chamber as money changed hands and lamps were lit.

"Give it fifteen seconds. Place your bets."

"Twenty-five."

"I bet four."

"Thiefs never prosper." The Vardan standing over me pulled the parka back from my shoulders. "Might wanna think twice about stealing from an officer again."

A small crowd had gathered, seemingly quite content with drinking and passing money around without a spectacle to watch. A sparkling flare tumbled down in to the pit, landing twenty feet down, amongst broken ribcages, arms, legs, and skulls. _Oh, shit_. I shook my ankle when a manacle was locked around it.

"Shuddup." A hand shoved my head away. "We count to three, you jump. Get up."

Shuddering, I stood up, my head bowed. Ears ringing to the coos and hoots the Vardans gave, I placed a foot on the edge.

"One."

Before two was given, a hand shoved me forwards. Weightlessness launching my stomach upwards, I opened my mouth, my feet slamming in to the mud on the cusp of giving a protest. Hissing and spitting, the pink flare sat in the centre of the pit. Beyond it was a narrow passage where the flicking light did not shine. Spitting mud out, I rubbed my back and sat against the slick wall. Vardans waved at me, some tossing insults, others dropping globules of spit. "Eurgh." A lucky shot spattered my right eye, sending up a cheer.

"Ssh, ssh, you'll upset him!" Somebody laughed.

A tug from the other end of the chain stretched my leg out.

"Oh, just you wait, boys. He's getting it slowly."

"A slow learner's a dead one!"

 _What the—?_ Pulled taught, the chain was lifted up from the mud as something seized the other end. Slow, squelching footsteps stood the hairs up on my arms. A growl rumbled up the passage.

"Help! Pull me up," I bleated, fumbling with the tight manacle.

"Was that twenty seconds supposed to be when he landed or when the beast comes out to play?" A Vardan asked, to much amusement. "I don't wanna lose money."

"Oi, help me, please!" I scraped at the wall of the pit, searching for handholds. A second animal snarl instigated an unwanted bowel movement I could not control. Testing the tiniest rut in the wall with my foot, a hard yank on the chain ripped me away to land smack on my stomach. Losing another mouthful of mud, I rolled on to my back, staring, mouth agape, at the panting, slobbering shadow squeezing out of the tunnel. Above me, Vardans let loose cheers and applause.

* * *

 **Karakol-Class Frigate _Corealis_ , Gothic Sector, Segmentum Obscurus**

The gentle breathing of her sons growing uniform and slow, Izuru Numerial leant forwards from where she sat beside them and kissed one then the other on their foreheads. _Ilic_ , _goodnight. Sleep well, Korsarro._ The twins' thin blanket Izuru drew over their small bodies, covering them up to their necks. _On the morrow, we shall set foot upon Ulthwé. There you will be safe._

From the unfurled scroll resting in her lap, Izuru went back over the fantastical tones and overblown characters in the children's tale, beaming at the optimistic outlook and unwavering courage the heroes displayed in the face of all odds. _How they love to hear tales of the Ranger's deeds. Father of mine, are you watching?_ Izuru rolled the yellow parchment up, sealing it with a knotted ribbon. _I hope your spirit looks down upon your two grandsons with joy. We are a family. One that will never be broken again._

Ilic turning to face his brother warmed Izuru's heart. _Oh, my beautiful sons. How tall and strong you will grow. Let the Druchii, the humans, and the Orks tremble before your blossoming power._

Reaching out, Izuru's consciousness brushed Korsarro's, just enough to tickle it. The thin boundaries protecting the young one's mind were fragile as wet parchment. Ilic's mind too, Izuru caressed lightly. _I am here, my love. I am always here._

Smoothing the folds of her ink-black robes down, Izuru straightened the white sash around her waist, tucking the end down her front. _I find myself with energy unspent at this late hour. Too restless to turn in. A wander must suffice._

Helmeted crewmembers, their faces hidden behind masks of the same shade as Izuru's robes, bowed to her when she passed by, each showing the sign of Ulthwé. "My lady."

Curving, cylindrical accessways linked the bubble-shaped compartments aboard _Corealis._ The crew serving on the night cycle sat upright at their stations, their minds linked to the frigate's neural network. The few released from the psyker connection turned to Izuru on her entry and bowed, saluting her with the Eye of Ulthwé. Returning the sign, Izuru passed the motionless crew. _Do not look them in the eye. Remain aloof yet courteous. We are not equals._

 _Corealis's_ seer-captain welcomed the foreign mind on to the bridge, offering the sign.

 _Permission to enter?_ Izuru hovered in the mouth of the portal.

 _I cordially offer you the Corealis's facilities_ , the seer captain replied, lowering his mental boundaries. _Come forth, I beg, my lady_.

 _No incidents?_ Izuru, her hands clasped behind her back, went to the seer-captain and stood by his shoulder. Outside _Corealis's_ curving viewport, the labyrinthine Webway tunnel stretched away before the three-strong convoy. A thick golden mist surrounded the tunnel, obscuring depths no being would dare to venture in to, for fear of losing their bearings and becoming lost for eternity.

 _It never stops ceasing to amaze_. _A portrait of perfection._

 _Untouched by the hand of the human._ Izuru ignored the seer-captain's shy glance, her mask unwavering. _If it is small-talk you seek, you will find yourself disappointed_.

 _Yes, my lady_. _The night-cycle is long and without excitement. I find that one's intellect dulls over its course. Casual conversation could serve to break the monotony._

 _Seek chatter amongst your crew, Seer-Captain. Bother me not._

 _Apologies, my lady. I could not look upon your face without offering a remark upon its fineness._

 _Withhold any remark, Seer-Captain. Sleep calls. Awaken me upon our return to Ulthwé._

"Lady Numerial!"

"Seer-Captain?"

On the verge of departing the bridge, Izuru whirled around, glaring at the seer-captain. "Do matters require us to converse in such a barbaric manner?"

"Cast eyes to the tunnel." The seer-captain's commands to enter an alert phase Izuru blocked out, scrutinising the curving tunnel wall. _What draws your attention?_

 _Portside. A prow._

 _I do not…_

A hooked talon cut through the mist. Slicing through the tunnel wall, the curving prow grew longer and larger as more and more of the ship behind it drew it to view. A pair of jagged prongs extended from underneath the vessel's chin, reminding Izuru of an insect's pincers. Batteries, held inside bulbous extensions amidships, were trained upon the three frigates, their barrels glowing with energy.

 _Druchii?_ Izuru sussed that the black coating and spikes decorating the ship marked it as belonging to the craftworlders' fallen brethren.

 _Corsairs!_ The seer-captain broke away from Izuru's mind, fully immersing himself in the collective consciousness of his crew, leaving her without a purpose.

 _Damn the pirates. I am useless where I stand._ Izuru stared at the obscene vessel, quite certain it would break off its attack once the corsair in command realised the frigates were Ulthwé-bound. _How often is it for the corsairs to raid their own kind?_

 _Madam, I have no use for a Ranger upon my bridge._

 _Command of the ship lies in your hands, Seer-Captain. See us through, and rise to significance in the Chief Farseer's eyes._

The flanking frigates had now appeared on _Corealis's_ port and starboard bow, their pulsar lances glowing a bright white, keen to strike at the pirate ship.

 _Aggressive. I hope the pirates respect such a showing._ Izuru watched in growing curiosity, never having seen Craftworld engage a corsair vessel before. _Like gnats upon a hound_.

 _My lady, a message from the corsair commander._

 _Who says?_

 _Surrender._

 _Or?_

 _Just surrender._

 _Turn us around._

 _Impossible. Corsair interceptors emerged from the abyss in the passage behind us. We are being driven._

 _Numbers? Surely the convoy can withstand mere fighters._

 _There are seventy marks approaching. Options are exhausted unless we enter the uncharted abyss. Then, it is in the god's hands._

 _Are there any branches close to our path?_

 _None._

A forest of lights, the corsair's batteries sparkled brilliantly. Receiving a near-wave of uninterrupted pulsar lances and fusion torpedoes, the frigate on _Corealis's_ port was torn in to pieces. Its body ripped from the fore and aft section, amidships crumpled in on itself. The rest of the dead frigate simply sailed on until its wrecked nose entered the mist, and it shortly disappeared, leaving a path of floating debris behind it.

 _Surrender_ , the message came again.

 _Has Ulthwé replied?_ Izuru's thumb and forefinger tightened around her sash, twisting the material.

 _Transmission was sent but no reply has come_. _I would look to your family, my lady. Keep them close to you. I will initiate a surrender before we lose any more of our people._

 _You have my gratitude for bringing us this far, Seer-Captain._

 _I suspect Ulthwé will pay the ransoms once they are issued._

 _An optimist. You surprise me, Seer-Captain._

 _Can one not look on the positive side? Though our path darkens, we remain in possession of our bodies and our minds._

 _Yes._ Izuru did not voice it, but the prospect of being sold off in to slavery and separated from her children provoked a sickening bubble that rose greedily in her stomach. Excusing herself from the bridge, Izuru returned to her sleeping quarters. _Should I pack a change of clothes? Father, I had not expected to be taken so easily. No struggle, no bold act of defiance. I am helpless._

Sitting on her knees, Izuru prostrated herself within the alcove twins slept in, resting her head next to Korsarro's.

"Mother?" Korsarro's eyes opened. Green eyes, belonging to his father, met and held the gold eyes of his mother. "Are we home?"

"Korsarro, my dear, wake Ilic. We will be leaving the ship soon."

"Mother?" Korsarro nudged Ilic. "Ilic, something is wrong."

"We will be transferring to another ship, my sons." Izuru smiled, leaning down to kiss Korsarro on the forehead. "Nothing is amiss."

Searching for his mother's hand beneath the blanket, Korsarro found it and held on. _They know! Isha, please protect them._

"Mother?" Ilic's eyes widened. "Why are you crying?"

"I do not weep." Izuru wiped her eye with a finger. "Please, I need you to dress."

 _There is no sense in packing. It will only be pilfered by the corsairs._ Izuru's hand hovered over the clasps of her travel bag. Servants normally attended to her family's belongings. _We will all shortly find ourselves as hostages. Equals too._ Izuru sighed. _Isha, keep us all together._

The twins, now dressed, and holding each other's hand, surrounded their mother and hugged her. "We will not be afraid, Mother," Ilic said.

"Will Isha protect us?" Korsarro asked.

"I will protect you." Izuru stood and drew the twins to her waist, stroking their hair. "I _will_ protect you."

All to soon, a servant Izuru knew by name, Aula, entered the chamber. "My lady, the seer-captain summons you," she said, her head bowed.

"Gratitude, Aula." Izuru steered Ilic and Korsarro out in to the corridor.

"Shall I bring your belongings, my lady?"

"No, thank you, Aula. See yourself safe now. I have no further need of you."

A reverberation passed through the ship, shaking the deck. _The drives have ceased. They are boarding us._ Contrary to Izuru's prediction, it was the seer captain and his crew whom she first encountered in the space amidships where _Corealis's_ umbilical cord would extend to the docking raider.

 _Your offspring?_ The seer-captain nodded at the twins.

 _Concern yourself not with my children but with your crew, Seer-Captain. Their lives are in your hands._

 _As are yours and your children's, Lady Numerial. Be assured, I will do everything in my power to negotiate for our lives._

 _It is our lives they want to keep, else they would have destroyed Corealis and all aboard. No wealth can be gained from flotsam and dead bodies._

 _Indeed. I will meet the pirates face-to-face and offer unconditional surrender. I pray the proceedings are peaceful._

Hushing the twins, Izuru watched for the latch upon the umbilical's portal unlocking, waiting for the pirate's arrival. _Be calm. There are many of us. Safety exists in companies._ Air hissed from the portal, gushing over the threshold. Through the mist, slim, armour-clad figures came. Stepping forwards, the seer-captain spoke, "I am Seer-Captain—"

The shriek of a lasblaster burning a fist-sized hole in the seer-captain's forehead silenced him. The single shot initiated and completed the corsair take-over of _Corealis_. Aside from the tramp of boots and the slow sizzle of cooking flesh, the crew were silent. No-one moved to take the seer-captain's position. Izuru's hold on her sons tightened, moving them behind her back, as corsairs, clad in gun-metal armour and red helmets adorned with the image of a snaking dragon, danced from the open portal and trained lasblasters and shuriken catapults on the crew.

A felarch – the squad leader – beckoned to the crew. "Come forth. Keep hands in view."

Much of the crew's heads were lowered on the walk through the cord to the raider vessel. Izuru looked straight ahead, keeping her chin up and out. _Let them see no fear in your eyes, or they have won,_ she said to Ilic and Korsarro. Both were on either side of her, their tiny hands finding purchase on her skirts.

Dark halls, reminiscent of a _Druchii_ warship, greeted Izuru on stepping aboard. Raiders with flamers and fusion guns squatted on walkways and platforms above the procession. Some, bareheaded, grinned and thrust their groins forwards, leering down at the crew. _Abominations. My sons, these are among the most despicable folk in the galaxy. Only the Druchii and the humans are worse._

 _Why the humans?_ Ilic asked.

A corsair, another felarch, was presiding with two subordinates ahead of the crowd, splitting them in to two groups that were heading down different corridors. _Male and female_. Izuru put her arms around her son's shoulders when confronted with the felarch. His wide smile displayed sharpened teeth. "Aha, your sons will proceed with the males. You must accompany the females."

Her eyes boring in to the felarch's, Izuru remained rooted. _I dare you to pry them from my hands_. The subtlest inclination of the felarch's head predated a swish of air behind Izuru. Parting from Ilic, Izuru turned, thrust out her arm and caught the maul mid-swing. The faceless corsair, about to bludgeon Izuru, shook his weapon with both hands. Shoving the corsair away, Izuru took hold of Ilic.

"Stunner!" the felarch barked.

A shower of warm water engulfed Izuru, loosening her limbs. Pried from her grasp, the twins were picked up in a corsair's arms and spirited away, their legs kicking at the air, calling out for their mother. Slumping on her knees, Izuru fell forwards, slipping underneath the surface. The felarch's fading voice reached her ears.

"Let the prince and princess know of our captives. Bring this one to the cells with the others. Mark her as a troublemaker…"


	2. Chapter 2

**The Pit, Butcher's Rock, Bastille-73**

A pair of green paws clawed at the mouth of the tunnel, the sinewy arms dragging the overgrown body out in to the open. Flattening myself against the wall, I slid sideways, glancing up at the baying Vardans, my jaw quivering. " _Please_."

Snorting up nasal mucus, the Ork scratched at the floor, its tiny nostrils wrinkling. Hunched over, it was three feet tall, with a chest size double mine and hands that could pop my head like a cherry.

"Ooh, he's on to you, boy!"

"Go on, put 'em up."

"Don't just stand there."

 _What the hell am I supposed to do?_ My eyes fixed on the Ork, I groped for ruts in the wall, edging right, when the Ork padded left. On all fours, the Ork stooped, sniffing the ground, its pointed ears twitching.

"Weren't leaving it all in his favour," somebody crowed. "Use your eyes, ya little prick!"

 _Eyes?_

Gouge marks scarred the Ork's brows and cheeks. Green blood stained its skin. Underneath its jowls, stumps grew from black gums.

 _Throne, he's blind._

"Ha-ha, he's getting it!"

"Go on, get in there!" A Vardan hurled a piece of mouldy fruit at me. "He's blind and he's got no teeth. Fucking hit him!"

Barking up at the crowd, the Ork's maimed hands tore at the walls. Making fists, it beat upon the earth, desperate to get at the meat mob.

"He's there. Right opposite you."

More fruit and other gone-off morsels bounced off the Ork's flat head. Flicking its tongue out, the beast licked the mould-ridden compo, lathering it with slobber then re-doubling its efforts to clamber out of the pit. Shielding my head, I squatted against the wall, sliding downwards to sit in a pool of rotting food. Jeers from the Vardans burned my ears. The sniffling grew closer.

"Go on, stand up and fight, you little rat!"

"Grow some balls."

"He's harmless!"

Wiping mess from my face, I scuttled away from the Ork, gasping as it lunged wildly at me. "Aw, shit!"

"You're running out of time. I'm losing money here!"

A flurry of grubby hands exchanged credits. _What the hell use is money here?_ I thought, slipping through the mud, away from the Ork. A swipe at my ankle jerked my leg back, slamming me on the ground. "No!" Twisting, I kicked back at the paw, driving my hobnailed sole along the Ork's wrist, grazing the skin. Letting loose a snarl, the Ork's grip slackened.

"Oi, help!" I cried, skidding out of the Ork's way, receiving nothing but laughter and applause from the Vardans. "Please!"

"New Fish!"

The nickname cut through the roar of blood in my ears, jerking my head up.

"Feed it him." A hunk of green-tinged grox-meat thumped down in front of me, splattering my boots and puttees, coating what little material remained clean in more of the cold mud. _What good will this do?_ I scooped up the meat, retching at the sickly-sweet stench it gave off. Misjudging my footing, I slipped, narrowly missing a swipe at my head.

"Feed him!"

Squeezing the meat, my fingers found a hard, ridged surface embedded within it. _Grenade._ Mymush-covered fingers tore at the shreds, uncovering the shining pull-ring. " _C'mon, c'mon, c'mon_."

"Give yourself the shits eating that!"

"Yeah, him too."

Drawn to me by the rancid meat, the Ork opened his arms, gathering me in its sweating, stinking embrace, dousing me in hot breath. Scrunching the meat up, I found the grenade spoon and worked the pin free, stuffing the grenade in to the Ork's mouth with the flat of my palm. Choking itself, the Ork stumbled, dropping me and clutching at its throat. On my shoulder, I rolled sideways, away from the Ork, curling up in to a ball. A muffled explosion preceded a wet splatter. Warm liquid drenched my mud-stained uniform. Hunks of smoking flesh plastered the walls of the pit. Over my ringing ears, the tumultuous racket from the crowd frittered away; in its place a dead quiet. Cheeks stained with tears and sticky with blood, I opened my eyes, shaking the warm scraps of Ork-flesh from my shoulders. Where the Ork lay, the space where its head had been had flooded with green blood, soaking everything in a wide radius of mud, skin and bone. A single red eye stared at me from the centre of the mess.

"New Fish!"

Clamping my teeth together, I dug my hands in to the mud, pushing my body away from the Ork.

"Up here."

A coiled rope landed in my peripheral vision. Balling my hands, I worked them up and down my chest, leaning to one side and expelling a white dribble of vomit from my stomach.

"Take the rope."

My impotent limbs leadweights, I flicked the rope away with my shoulder, spitting the last of the lumpy liquid from my mouth. _Leave me alone._

"I'm not playing with you, New Fish. Take the blasted rope. Let me bring you up out of there."

"Cheater. You tossed him that grenade!" Another Vardan growled.

"Easy ganging up on one boy, when it's the whole lot of you outnumbering him, isn't it?"

"Bah, Chelkar, you're lucky you're a sarn't, else it'd be you in there too."

 _Chelkar?_ I twisted my head. At the edge of the pit, a Vardan with a grey-tinged explosion of a beard gestured down at me.

"Yes, it's me, boy. Haul your arse up from there. I'll pull."

Taking the rope in both hands, I pressed it between my knees and let Chelkar carry me upwards.

"Aww, is he crying?"

"Might need to change his nappy there, Sarn't."

"Silence, the lot of you!" Chelkar boomed. "Animals, cretins, bullies! You laugh because he is young and green, because he can't stand up to you. It's so funny. You find it funny, do you? Laugh, c'mon, laugh. Let me hear you laugh at him for standing up to an Ork without blade or rifle. Does it not give you entertainment, you savages? Use your feet, New Fish, keep your body away from the wall. You're dragging me down. That's it, grab the lip. Help me and I'll help you. Now, get your leg over."

Sweating, stinking, and exhausted, I flopped on my belly, leaving one leg dangling over the edge.

"Alright, you're alright, New Fish." Chelkar's hands slapped my back. "Nothing broken, nothing bleeding? Good."

"Toss him back in, he's worthless!"

"Oi, gimme that money." Chelkar waded in to the money-toting Vardans, swiping it out of hands, hurling the wads down in to the pit. "You like it so much, you go down there and get it. All of it, worthless dogs. See how you like it with greenskin blood all over it now. I don't care if you owe each other paper. Worse than lifers, all of you!"

A _snick_ of a knife unfolding was followed by a yelp. "My arm!"

"People get hurt here. You'll live, Private." Chelkar slapped the aggressor across his mouth. "Next time I toss you in the pit, huh. Might leave the Ork with his teeth and eyes this time! Give that jacket back, loggerhead."

A jacket was thrown across my shoulders. Hands hauled me up on my feet. They belonged to Chelkar. "Come, New Fish."

Head drooping, I mumbled, "my name is—"

"No-one cares."

Scattered by Chelkar's wrath, the Vardans made way, pressing their bodies against the concrete walls, and avoiding making eye contact with him. Sniffing and sobbing, I let Chelkar bear me up in to the biting Bastille night.

"Make way there!" Chelkar snarled at a gaggle of onlookers crowding at the factory gate. "No show tonight. Back to your billets."

"He coming back to your billet with you, Sarn't?" A Vardan leered at me.

"Not smelling like the greenskin he just went hand-to-hand with, he's not." Chelkar laughed. "Leave me, leave me. Get away."

"Fuck me, did he win?" the Vardan called after Chelkar.

"Let the rumour spread that a wetnose threw some hands with a greenskin and came out smiling," Chelkar muttered to me. "Let's get you squared away now, New Fish."

"I'm a… I'm a…"

"Hush up for now. You'll shower and hand your uniform in for disinfecting."

Chelkar flashed his yellowing ID card to the Vardans manning the outer perimeter gate, whisking me through as the gate rose. Ahead, the walls of the triangular building disappeared up in to fog. The sentries passed Chelkar with little more than a nod and a wink. The few words exchanged between them made no mention of me.

"Got no business in there, New Fish, that's officer-only territory. Beware of lifers too. Lifers inhabit that command post in abundance."

Seeing nothing of the route Chelkar took me on, my muddled brain half-registered that it was not back towards Cain Med, rather along the command post's south wall then – turning right – past the front, west-facing, entrance; all sandbags, reinforced concrete, and small boulders kept inside square cages. Greeting the Vardans manning a plentiful array of man-packed weaponry, Chelkar steered me on to the causeway that led up to the entrance then down into a bivouac set about four feet beneath the road. Tents aplenty were arranged in ordered rows, and decking, similar to the articles at Cain Med, gave a stable path above the treacherous mud.

"Now, normally you'd strip and burn everything that came in to contact with the greenskin. Jacket, gloves, trousers. But, you'd need issuing a full set of kit after that, and the only stuff they issue now is paid for on the black market; quadruple price, I might add. Here, the Crotch issues you with a bodybag, but sometimes not even that, so we make do. You will keep your clobber after it's been gone over. Don't want you looking like us, after all, New Fish."

Nearing an unmarked tent, Chelkar whistled. "Kaulewicz, outside."

A hand undid one of the toggles holding the tent halves together and a head poked through the gap. Bearded, as with all Vardans, the man squinted at me. "Uh, who's this, Sarn't?"

"Remember him?" Chelkar shook me by my collar.

"Nah."

"I do, so you do. Prep a shower detail. This runt needs a bath and a full sterilise."

"Snip-snip?" Kaulewicz mimed a pair of scissors. "Need the hot knife for that."

"Kill yourself, Corporal."

"I'll get a private to do it."

"Get Delta Fireteam of Fourth or do it yourself."

"Well, they owe me money…"

"Find Davir, Bulaven, or Skargo. He was in their fireteam before."

"That blood on him?"

"Not his. I want his uniform gone over immediately with decon, washed, and hung out to dry for him in the morning."

"Well, he can do it himself. He's responsible for his own kit."

"And what does he wear whilst he's washing his clothes in the dark, with his cock shrivelling up between his legs?"

"Do it tomorrow, first thing."

"Now, Corp."

Grumbling obscenities, Kaulewicz's head disappeared. "You go with Corporal Kaulewicz, New Fish. You do what he says, when he says it," Chelkar said. "Wait here. He will take charge of you. Make sure you scrub quick and get in to every hole. For tonight, your uniform will be taken care of for you. Tomorrow, it's your problem. D'you understand me?"

"Mmm." I bobbed my head up and down.

"Well?"

" _Thank you, Sergeant_ ," I whispered.

"Wake-up at zero-five three-zero, New Fish. Don't oversleep or I'll punch your heart out." Chelkar grinned behind his beard. Slapping my back – something that brought me forward a step – Chelkar pottered away.

 _Lifers. The Crotch. What the hell is going on around here?_ I stamped my boots upon the uneven decking, blowing a cloud from my nose. A minute later, Kaulewicz burst from the tent, his abrupt exit provoking an outcry from the occupants to shut the flap. "Your fireteam's off whoring, pencil-prick." Kaulewicz spat near my feet, tying the flaps together. "So, I'm stuck with you tonight, sweet-cheeks. Now, we're gonna have a lot of fun, you and I. Well, when I say you and I, I mean just me. Though the fun I'm gonna wrangle from this outing will be mild and fleeting, so don't take too long or I'll keep the towel for myself and run you naked round the bivouac to dry you off."

Pushing me ahead of him, Kaulewicz pointed out a tent with two sides open to the world and a single screen bordering a shower area. Above it, a single bucket hung from a hook. Underneath it, a long pole attached to a hinge rested against a post. "Now, are you carrying?" Kaulewicz jiggled the pole. "Aha! Plenty left in there. You, abortion, strip smartly, leave your luggage outside and take your boots with you. Don't stare at me. Show that white arsehole and hairless cock, now!"

"…Fucking nuts," I murmured, fiddling with the zipper on my trousers.

"You don't talk to me like that." Kaulewicz jabbed a finger at my chest. "You don't talk to me like that, rude piece of shit. You're nothing. _Nothing_. You're less than nothing, 'cause Vardans are nothing. This is my world, not yours. Don't talk back at me."

Passing Kaulewicz the clean parka, my jacket, shirt, vest, trousers, and puttees, I paused, grimaced, then gave him my grey, baggy undershorts. Kaulewicz snorted, "pitiful. Get in there."

Shivering in my boots and socks, I stepped beneath the shower, undid my laces and left both pairs of boots and socks outside.

"Oi." Kaulewicz held a single cigarette up. "You've got till I smoke this to get yourself sorted. Y'understand?"

"Yes, Corporal." I yanked the curtain across, glaring up at the shower head.

 _You've got till I smoke this cigarette_. I replayed the words in my head. _Smoke a cigarette at night? You don't show lights at night. How long does he mean?_

" _One minute_." I mouthed, steeling myself for the rush of water jetting from the rusted filter. Kaulewicz laughed, hearing my scream. Spitting and swearing, I snatched a piece of black soap, hard as a brick, and lathered it over my numb body, inwardly cursing all Vardans and all non-commissioned officers.

 _Forty-seven seconds_ , I counted, leaving the shower with water still to drain out. _See how he likes that._ Taking a towel from a peg, I scoured my body, fingers breaching many holes in the thin cotton.

"Corporal?" I called, once I had my boots and socks back on. "Can I 'ave the parka? That's a clean piece, that. It doesn't need washing."

"Outside."

In defiance of all common sense, Kaulewicz carried a lit cigarette between his finger and was leaning against a tent post, facing west. "If you were a real man you'd have nothing to fear, nothing to hide. That is why you can never be one of us." Kaulewicz nodded down at my clasped hands. "Okay, you may have survived the fifteen hours. But, it's just an average. Now, you may be a rung or two above the sad, sorry ballbags getting intimate with the rats out there between the lines, but don't for one second think you're anything special." Kaulewicz dropped the glowing butt and smothered it beneath his boot. "I've been putting pieces of special people in mass graves for ten years." From underneath his arm, Kaulewicz produced the grey parka and threw it to me. "Chelkar's probably told you already. Tomorrow you take charge of your own shit."

As itchy as the fur was on my bare skin, the warmth it gave lifted my heart from the rock-bottom depths of my stomach, hitching it up like a cripple finding his legs worked once more. "Thank you, Corporal."

"Aw, you won't be thanking me come wake-up tomorrow." Kaulewicz aimed a finger at the tent rows. "Second row back, third from the right, or fifth from the left if you're wrong-handed. Nobody in there right now. Just make sure you take a vacant cot before you make sleeping sounds tonight. Remember zero-five three-zero. If Chelkar don't punch your heart out, I will. Run off, now." Kaulewicz clapping his hands behind my head broke the stupor stiffening my limbs. "Away!"

Lurching along the boards, I buried my face in the parka's fur, ruffling the collar to cover my ears. _Where's the bloody tent?_ Laughter carried between the tents, jibes hurtling around like a hurricane. _Oh no, go away. I'm sick of bloody Vardans._ I hunkered down in the shadows, gathering the parka around me, turning my face away from the trio of jubilant Vardans lolling along the duct boards.

"Who's that?"

"What's she wearing under that parka?"

"It's a man!"

"Man? That ain't no man."

"It's…"

"Larn."

Stirring, I uncovered my eyes, seeing three familiar faces looming over me.

"Erm, caught short, m'boy?" Bulaven, with Davir and Scholar at his shoulders, wiggled his eyebrows.

"Where's your uniform, boy?" Davir prodded my bare knee.

"Might ask you the same about earlier, D." Scholar shoved Davir sideways. "Thrashing around, trying to find your clobber. I swear you're gonna catch venereal disease one of these days."

"Veneer-what? I've had stuff go through me so much, I reckon I've built up an immunity by now."

"Don't…" Bulaven's palm engulfed Davir's head and he too shoved him aside. "Let no single sentence, not one word passing from D's mouth be taken to heart. His jaw flaps and sound comes out, that's about it."

"Enough, enough." Scholar placed his fur hat on my damp head. "Let's be out the cold. Hellfire, he's freezing to death. Help him inside, boys."

Borne between the three Vardans inside a tent, I was deposited upon a cot and covered up with many blankets. "Who's Skargo?" I whispered.

Davir, lighting a lamp hanging from the ceiling, flicked the lit match out and tossed it at me. "Never mind that, where's Zeebers, huh? How comes we haven't seen you in a month?"

"Shush. Shush! No questions, now, D. Leave it till the morning. We'll chat then." Bulaven turned Davir away from my cot, slapping the smoking match away before it could set anything alight. "Sleep now, Larn. Don't worry. We'll be here when you wake up."

"Why you calling him that?"

"That's his name." Scholar, sitting on his cot, removed his rewired glasses and folded the arms. "Yeah, I'm Skargo, New Fish. You make sleeping sounds. Don't be wetting the bed, now."

Sleep came readily. With the Vardan's chatter growing quieter, I entered a realm of pitch-dark, with only the scratches and sniffs of blind, toothless Orks keeping me company throughout the night.

"Arise, Larn." Bulaven's gloved hand squeezed my shoulder. "We're ten short of five-thirty. Kaulewicz left your clothes beside your boots. Better be getting dressed."

Through gummed-up eyes, I noticed shapes moving around me. "Why so early?"

"Alpha's on a mess-detail – that's us. We get to play dogsbody to the mess lifers this morning."

"Uhh, lifers?" I wormed my way up from the half dozen or so blankets burying me, sniffing in the chill air. The lamp above my head had long since burned out.

"Hurry, hurry, New Fish." Davir pushed past Bulaven, carrying his greatcoat in one hand, and service weapon in the other. "Chelkar will punch our hearts out if we're late for roll-call."

"Punch our hearts out, yeah…" I leant over the side of my cot, searching the folded clothes for my shorts and trousers. All three Vardans, readying themselves far quicker than I had, stood waiting by the tent flap for me to finish sorting my puttees. At the sound of a whistle, Davir slunk off. Hesitating for a moment, Skargo glanced at Bulaven, who shook his head. "Go."

"Sorry." I tied off the long tab, wiggling my foot inside the hard leather.

"Sleep well?"

"No."

"Sleep will come easy soon."

"I'm freezing."

"Aah, that'll become second nature, too. Here." Bulaven passed me my parka. "Turn 'round."

"Ta." The fur lining was an extra layer of comfort over the fleeting warmth my olive grey Jumael uniform provided. Svenk's scarf, I wore beneath the parka.

"Follow me now, Larn." Bulaven drew the tent flap back, letting the wind over the threshold. Drawing the Parka around me, I buttoned it up to my chin, pulling the hood up. Bulaven, bareheaded, stamped his feet. "Nice morning."

A sorry sight, fewer than 100 men, lounged around beneath a marquee, smoking or chatting quietly, many sitting upon mothballed armchairs or foldout seats. Uncovered gas lamps hissed, lending warmth to the gathered company.

"Here." Bulaven squatted beside Davir and Skargo, motioning for me to do the same. "Eh, ask away. It'll keep you awake."

 _Not like I'm going to fall asleep out here_. "What's a lifer? What's the Crotch? Why aren't you on the line?"

"Oh, simmer down, son." Davir rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Hoped Sawbones would put you on the straight and narrow after Mister Green zipped you but no, you're still small and twatty."

"Well…" Bulaven scratched his head, batting a small flask out of Skargo's hand. "'Ey, not now, Scholar, too early! Straight off, I can say we're on the line ten days, in reserve for six, and two resting. We've just had our six. It's light duty for forty-eight hours now. The eighty swinging dicks here are a third of Alpha, so we sort of operate in thirds. Aah, you know our strength. We told you on your first day, remember?"

"Er…"

"His mind's like a sieve at this hour." Skargo chortled. "A lifer is someone – quite often an officer – that exercises authority they don't deserve to have. Lots of rear-echelon cogitator-commandos like to think they can throw their weight around over us. Last lifer-type led us out beyond the wire and got wasted for his trouble. No tears shed there, I can tell ya. Thought he could get us killed and win a medal. We skuzzy grunts are too tough for that."

"D, enlighten Larn on the Crotch."

Grasping his groin, Davir explained, shortly, that the Crotch was a simple nickname. "The Guard: that's us. We're stinkin' like a crotch too by now, 'cept you, butter-balls. Odd one out…"

"There." Bulaven thumped me on the back. "Feel better?"

Coughing, I bent double. "Oh, God."

Kaulewicz, stopping beside me, nudged my arm. "Didn't need to overturn his bunk, did you?"

"Nah, Corp, Larn's squared away." Bulaven patted the back of my hood. "Sorted his own shit himself."

" _Hmph_. Teach him everything, Bull." Kaulewicz moved away. "Sarn't closing fast."

True to Kaulewicz's word, Chelkar made his appearance. _No officers anymore_. _Only corporals and sergeants._

"Anybody missing?" Chelkar's narrowed eyes travelled across the sea of fur and beards, awaiting any calls of absence. "Alright then. Mess detail, forty-eight hours."

A chorus of groans, intermixed with exclamations of general discontent, rippled through the Vardans. Crushed cans and bits of muck were lobbed at Chelkar, who never moved or flinched once "Uh-huh. Well, the joys of serving the lifers look to be lost on you then." Chelkar placed his hands on his hips and paced around. "Last night, a member of the present company was wrongfully placed inside the pit with its resident, going hand-to-hand with the horror and coming out on top."

The groans were swiftly silenced, leaving hushed whispers in their place, as Vardans quizzed one another on which of their number had fought.

"I say wrongfully. What I mean is, tonight one of you lot will be tossed in there by me, intentionally that is, if you do not all muck in with the mess detail."

"What if we all refuse to do the lifer's bidding?" A Vardan piped up. "Can't toss us all in."

"Then, it's back on the line for all of us." Chelkar rubbed his hands together. "I know you all very well by now. I'd like these forty-eight hours just as much as any of you would. I'm sorry it's with the lifers, but we're either taking their shit in the rear, or taking Mister Green's shit up on the line." Chelkar tugged off a glove and wiggled a finger in his ear. "These poor, tired ears need a rest. They've got the old ringing. Yours have too, haven't they?"

 _Ringing?_ I probed my own ear, finding nothing of the like Chelkar described. _Must be a Vardan thing._

"As one." Chelkar led off. "Be sure to hand in your arms before assuming mess duty. I don't want to see any cocked pistols underneath aprons."

"Bayonets, Sarn't?"

"No bayonets, knives, sharp sticks, or even evil thoughts, as I know many of you harbour towards our pals in the rear."

"Pals? Sarn't, Mister Green's a mere adversary. The lifers and their snuffies are our enemies." A Vardan put. "Enemies of grunts one and all."

Staying put with Bulaven, Skargo, and Davir, I rose with them, tagging along in their little group. _Where are we going?_

"With us, Larn. There's a good lad." Bulaven brought me forwards to walk beside him.

"Wouldn't know anything about the pit, would you?" Skargo looked over his shoulder at me.

"What's that?" I glanced at Bulaven.

"Aw, don't worry about it. Nothing to do with us." Bulaven patted my shoulder. "No danger where we're going."

"'Cept from the lifers and their snuffies." Davir snorted. "Yes, sir. No, sir. Please, be gentle, sir."

The four of us, tucked inside the crowd, trooped through the gate of the command complex, past the Vardan weapon teams, the wire, and the concrete barricades, in to the shadow of the triangular building.

"It's where the generals live, boy." Davir scratched his ratty beard. "It's a dream of mine. Jack a six-inch battery and CFF on the very tip-top of the general's bunker."

"We had track-mounted rocket arty in year one. Should've done it then, my friend." Skargo smiled. "You'll get 'em someday."

Around on the north side, the Vardans were admitted through a blast door, guarded by who, presumably, were snuffies under the thumbs of the lifers. Their greatcoats bore little dirt, and their hard covers were without camouflage, leaving a shiny drab that would glint in the sunlight. _Too good to bother with us_ , I thought, lowering my gaze as I passed by the armed guards.

"See the lifer in his natural habitat." Somebody commented.

"Not a single hair on these bloke's chests."

"Step away, my boy." Bulaven took me by the shoulder and glared at a clean snuffy with a shiny bayonet. "Boys with clean cocks are sought after here. Do a little favour for an officer here and there then you'll never be put on the line again. You're too good for that though, aren't you?"

Nodding along with him, I waited as Alpha handed in their arms to a crisply-attired lifer sitting in an office behind a mesh screen; a world entirely different to ours. Once the Vardan's arms were handed in, I followed the crowd in to a narrow room filled with benches and wooden pegs to hang clothing on. Well accustomed to this, the Vardans donned white cotton coats, taken from lockers, in place of their greatcoats and furs, removing their covers too. So many had streaks of grey in their hair, or were grey outright. _Does combat age a person?_

"What do I do?" I whispered.

Snapping the buttons on his wide-breasted jacket, Bulaven turned to me. "Hmm?"

"Help me."

"Hang your jacket up and grab your whites from the locker over there. We'll be sterilising our hands after this, then it's off to the kitchen for us all."

"I never worked a kitchen before…"

"Neither did I." Bulaven pointed out a small group of Vardans, crowding around an open locker. "Be quick now, all the small jackets will be gone."

The diminished pile of folded whites, left in the locker once the Vardans had finished sifting through for articles their own size, only deepened my gloom. _Fifty-four inch? Nearly fit two of me in that._ Label after label read sizes above fifty inch. _Throne, they're like a tent on me_.

"Alright?" Bulaven asked, once I'd returned wearing the jacket. Giving a shake of my head, I trod in the threesome's wake, stopping by a steel sink to apply sterilising gel to my hands. _Is this necessary?_

"Yup. I can tell what you're thinking just by the look on your face, Larn." Skargo chuckled. His glasses were tucked in his whites' breast pocket, leaving him looking a little strange to me with them off. "Morbid disgust, I think we'll call that."

"Oh, is he too good for this too?" Davir straightened the blue cap he wore, tilting the brim forwards and the rear seam up. "Entitled piece of shit. We work for our living. You do too."

"Aw, stop needling him, D. It's us against the lifers, remember? Let's not divide our house, now. We're doing vital work for the war effort, here."

"Feeding officers? Nah, worse. We're feeding pencil-pushers and paper-shifters. They'll never set foot where we live. Never lug ammo or cover a sector. Mister Green in't nothing but a nuisance."

"Well, we're all in the same shit."

"Yeah, just they wouldn't see it that way. They don't think like us, the lifers. Might as well compare them to Mister Green or a stickie."

"What's a stickie?" I had never heard of such a term used before. _Some other murderous xenos race they didn't bother to tell us about in Phase One?_

"Pointy-eared pricks. Nothing more 'an pirates with lasers and flashy ships. Kill ya as soon as look at ya."

"Why stickie?" I frowned up at Bulaven, who shrugged.

"Anyway, they'll split us up in to separate teams for the different stations in the kitchen. Not sure where you'll be, Larn. Can you cook?"

"No."

"Potwash, then."

"Will you lot be with me? I don't want to be on my own."

"I don't know, Larn, I'm sorry. It's up to the mess sergeant."

Through a set of double-doors, the pale green walls became a stark white. Chaos, at least that was how the kitchen appeared to my eyes, was in full swing. Chefs in crumpled grey hats bustled around, firing up the gas stoves and cooking surfaces, ordering the white-clad Vardans to man the many empty stations.

"Let's talk to the mess sergeant. See where he wants you." Bulaven led me to a clean-shaven Vardan standing in the centre of everything, who, by the sound of his voice, was in charge.

"Where d'you want the boy, Sarn't?"

"Uh?" The mess sergeant's brow furrowed. "Same station as before, Bulaven. Don't fuck with me this time of the morning."

"No-no, this one hasn't done mess before."

"Can he cook?" The mess sergeant's gaze roved around the kitchen's stations. Spotting a misdemeanour, he shouted at the pair of Vardans guilty. He never once looked at me, only giving Bulaven a disinterested glance.

"No, 'fraid not."

"Potwash. Get him scrubbing. Change the bins and just keep everything tidy."

"Alright. Larn, you're over in the corner, by that sink. See it?" Bulaven pointed out the station to me. "Your job's to keep the piles of dirty plates and cutlery clean. Make sense?"

My heart sunk. "Yeah."

"Good, good."

"Am I gonna be alone?"

"…Well, we're all just over here on the fryers. You won't be alone."

"Got no one else to talk to…"

"Please, Larn. You need to stand up on your own two feet, for once. I'm sorry about this. It's a shit detail, we all know that. You've just got to muck in with the rest of us and accept it. I'll show you, c'mon."

Letting Bulaven lead me to the potwash station, I stared at the yellow water filling the sink up to the brim, and the heaps of plates and pots submerged in its depths. Bulaven tutted. "Bastards should have cleaned all this up last night instead of leaving it all for us in the morning. Lazy of them." Rolling up his sleeves, Bulaven reached down and picked out a pair of saucepans. "I will help you clear this mess, then you're on your own, Larn."

Ably assisted by Bulaven, I cleared the two dozen or so plates and pans from the sink, stacking them on the worktop beside it. The water level remained precariously high, even with all the big things lifted out. "Some clodhopper's only gone and stuffed the drain with bits of food," Bulaven grunted, his bare arm submerged up to the elbow. "Dumb lifer stooges."

"Eurgh, what's that?" I stepped back, covering my nose, when Bulaven showed me a slimy mess of green and grey gunk in his hand.

"Crap they tip off from the plates. Leftovers, unused ingredients, you name it." Bulaven tossed the wastage in to a bin beneath the sink. "God, they'd better not have tipped oil or fatty stuff down there, 'cause that'll block the drains and give us a shitter time than usual."

"Erm…"

"Ah, look, if you need any help. You find yourself overwhelmed, come find me. I'll do my best to drop everything and help you here, Larn."

I rested my hands on the sink, staring down at the brown residue left by the draining water. "Ta. Thanks for everything."

"Mmm, better fill that sink up again. Hot, clean, soapy water. There's a sponge in one of the cupboards over your head. Take care now."

With no means of telling the time, I laboured through the stacks of dirty plates and pans, cursing the shit detail I was saddled with. " _By the numbers_ ," I said to myself. " _You had a good home but you left, you're right. You had a good home but you left, you're right._ "

The narrow ray of sunshine poking through the impenetrable murk was that nobody was adding to the pile, everybody being all to busy with preparing breakfast for the officers. "What time is it?" I asked Bulaven, when he sauntered over.

"Urm, 'bout seven-thirty. The lifer flock should be rolling in shortly. Hey, you've done a great job here. Nice and spick."

"I just…"

"Nah, it's great. Oi, I've got something over here to show you, quick."

"What?"

"Come."

Skargo and Davir, both overseeing a pair of steaming pots, giggled in hushed whispers. "Present from Deadly Delta, lifers." Davir's lips drew back, showing me blackened, animal teeth. "Ready, m'boys?"

"Been building mine up all morning." Skargo made a noise in his throat. "Careful the mess sarn't don't see."

In unison, the Vardans gobbed inside the stew pot. Only at Bulaven's insistence did I contribute.

"Don't feel right, doing that." I wiped a thin dribble of phlegm from my chin, as Skargo stirred the contents with a wooden spoon.

"No, no, no, they're only officers – and better, they're lifers and rear-echelon paper-peddlers." Davir grinned. "Now…" His hand slunk down the front of his trousers. "Something special."

"Oh, we at stage two?" Skargo copied Davir and came out with a curly hair.

"Really? You want the lifers to suck you off, D?"

"Any rear-echelon mother-fucker can suck my big animal cock off. They're jealous 'cause they ain't got anything down the front o' their trousers. Might add another to the recipe…"

"Larn, don't copy D or Skargo. They're a bad influence." Bulaven flicked soup on a wooden spoon at D's whites. "Animal. Beast."

"To counter the Ork, one must think and act like the Ork." Davir chomped a floury crust Skargo passed to him.

"Act like the Ork?"

I jumped, hearing the sound of Chelkar's voice behind me. Two large hands – one wearing oven gloves – rested on mine and Bulaven's shoulders. "Well, that's you down to a T, Davir. Only one that could give you a run for your money, and that's Zeebers. Shame he bought the farm. Alright, you two?"

"Alright, Sarn't. Just having us a stew." Bulaven nodded at Chelkar.

"How's our newest wetnose?" Chelkar beamed down at me. "Settling in alright?"

"Larn just blitzed the potwash. Reckon he's on his way to chef."

"Who? Didn't know he had a name." Chelkar frowned.

Seeing the mess sergeant, Chelkar wandered off to talk to him, leaving me with yet more questions on the odd jargon the Vardans used. Davir of all people spoke first. "Nobody dies here. People get hurt, sure. But, nobody dies. They take on real estate. It's all about real estate, see."

Skargo, working the stirring spoon, offered his own opinion. "We've been fighting over the same patch of real estate for so long, we can't even remember why we're fighting."

"Uh? Yes, we do." Bulaven jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "It's the prom refineries and the mines underneath. The ore, boys, the ore."

"Or what?"

"Or something else!" Davir bounced up and down on his heels. "Can we keep him, Bull? He's making me laugh."

The mess sergeant swooping down broke up our collective. "Potwash station's unmanned. Get your smooth arse over and work it, boy."

A sharp slap on my rump prompted me to scoot away from the mess sergeant's advances, something Davir and Skargo found extremely amusing. A little later, Bulaven came over. "If you ever find yourself alone in a room with the mess sergeant, leave immediately."

"Eh?"

"Hah! Sorry, Larn, you lose your inhibitions a bit when there's so little female company out there. Aha, did old Svenk take you out one night to a certain seedy dugout?"

"Wha – no, I swear I never…"

"You didn't? I was right in there, my first time. Don't be so shy. Nobody will laugh." Bulaven thumped his chest. "Rite of passage, so it is. Need to find you a cute little thing your size sometime."

"Um, I don't…"

"Be a boost to your confidence, I can tell you. What colour hair do you go for: brown, red, yellow?"

"…I've gotta go take the bins out." I sidled away from Bulaven, leaving my sodden sponge in the sink.

"Help you?"

"N…" Clamping my mouth shut before I could rebuke Bulaven, I sighed. The two of us, a pair of binbags over our shoulders, stepped out of the back door, in to a walled yard occupied by wheeled bins.

"Aah, mine's leaking! Disgusting." Bulaven lifted a lid up and swung his first bag in to the bin nearest the mesh gate. Tottering under my load, I made for the beckoning Bulaven. An urgent twinge in my back and both binbags slipped from my hands. Swearing aloud, I bent nearly double, clasping the small of my back, dimly hearing Bulaven rushing to me.

"S'alright, I got you, Larn." Bulaven walked me over to a ledge outside the kitchen and sat me down upon it. "You okay there?"

My head between my knees, I groaned, "mmm, no, just a twinge. Felt like a tree-branch through my back."

"What happened to you, Larn, eh? Svenk never said."

With the patient Bulaven listening, I took him through the period between waking up at dawn and our reunion. It was partway through this when Davir and Skargo interrupted, prompting Bulaven to shush them.

"Don't shush me, I'm at liberty to speak how I want here." Davir flicked open a lighter and danced the flame underneath a cigarette poking out of Skargo's mouth. "Nabbed the smokes off lifer scum. Ain't we enterprising!"

"Mmm, have one, Bull." Skargo plonked himself on the step next to Davir.

"Many thanks, Scholar." Bulaven stuck the cigarette behind his ear and touched my shoulder. "You were saying, Larn?"

With my tongue clinging to my dry mouth, I finished recounting my tale to Bulaven.

"Can he stop crying and act like a grownup." Davir sneered. "Only grownups here."

Stepping over to Davir, Bulaven leant forwards on one knee, pressing his face up close to Davir's.

"Larn, is that your name?" Skargo slipped away from Davir and put an arm around my shoulder. "You don't have to stop doing anything. Here." The cigarette, now held in Skargo's fingers, hoved in towards my mouth. The strange warmth touched my lips, and the moment I inhaled, the hot smoke, tickling my lungs, brought on a fit of coughing.

"Never smoked before?" Bulaven dragged Davir in to a headlock, lifted him upright and took him for a walk around the yard. "First time, yeah? Gets easier, trust us."

"Ehh, sorry for the shit detail. We'll pull through. Always do." Smiling at Bulaven and the struggling Davir, Skargo retrieved his cigarette. "A couple for you, Larn." In his palm, three cigarettes sat.

"Ta." I sniffed and wiped the wetness from my cheeks, pocketing the smokes.

"Hey, look." Skargo nudged me. "We get to nab the officer's leftovers, once they've had enough. Hmm, like the sound of that?"

Running Davir back over, Bulaven let him go, sending him on his way with a boot. "Right, you've had your exercise. Back in your cell."

After one last drag, Skargo ground his cigarette underneath his heel, tapping me on the arm. "C'mon, Deadly Delta, back to work now. Up you get, Larn. No smoking inside, now."

"Wonder if the lifers are tasting our delicacy?" Bulaven snorted, straightening his cap. "Courtesy of Delta Fireteam, First Squad, Fourth Platoon, Alpha Company. Yea, we deal in death and lead. Killing is our business and business is booming."

* * *

Noon came and went without remark. We served – the officers, coming and going in hordes of sharply creased tunics and buffed boots – ate. Our own mealtime – fifteen minutes – we took standing up and under the hawk-eyes of the mess sergeant, who then ordered us to dispose of the rest in to wastage then get back to work. It was Chelkar, the unlikely saviour, who presented a portion of our number with an alternative to working mess in the afternoon in the form of an announcement.

"A platoon is being sent on a mine detail. Today is Fourth's turn. Fourth Platoon. One quarter of our number."

"Aw, shit!" Davir exclaimed. "We're getting it good today."

 _Mine detail. Mine clearing?_ Swallowing hard, I looked to Bulaven, shaking my head. " _No_."

"Right, fall out, Fourth. Hand your whites in and form up outside the eastern gate in ten minutes." Chelkar clapped his hands. "Move 'em out!"

"Hurry now, Larn." Bulaven whisked me out of the kitchen and back to the locker room, after Davir and Skargo had beat a retreat from the mess sergeant.

"I've never done mine-clearing before," I mumbled, unbuttoning my white jacket and dumping it with the other dirty clothing. Hearing this, Davir gave a hoot.

"Mine detail – down the mine, Larn. We're now on a dig detail for the rest of the day." Bulaven tossed me a pair of leather and cotton gloves. "Protect your hands from blisters, they will."

"Why's he get gloves? He don't deserve 'em yet." Davir shook his fist. "A good afternoon's back-breaking labour will do him good. Might even set his gammy back straight."

A fluttering in my stomach and my hand strayed to my back, rubbing the numb patch of flesh where the surgeons had operated. Blinking, I turned away from Davir, a warmth rushing to my cheeks.

"Chin up, you." Bulaven held out the officer's parka to me. "We're all going to the same place, doing the same thing as you are. Whatever hardship come our way, we all share it together. That's how Vardans work."

"But, I'm not Vardan…"

"…Someday."

Raising my hood against the wind, I shadowed the other three on our march out of the compound, taking a dangerously close route to the entrance of the pit, though the party made no turning, heading straight past it and on in to the gutted city, settling my queasy stomach. In the shadow of an imperial cathedral, whose glory was now nothing more than a shell-peppered box of ruined stone roof and crumbling walls, an artillery park sat. Surrounded by a sandbag wall and bunkers on the corners, the field artillery battery, described by a wooden sign with white lettering on it, was known as the 377th. A snuffy Vardan, wearing a naked helmet with a white stripe ringing it, waggled a wooden baton at me. "You, brown-pants, fall out of that funeral procession and pick up that shovel."

"Don't." Bulaven gripped my arm.

"Uh-uh, stand fast, shit-stain." The snuffy launched himself forwards, thwacking me in the side. "You pricks, leave."

"Nuh-uh. Number ten. This fireteam's on a dig detail." Davir sneered.

"And this wetnose is on a working party. He's going to fill sandbags for my bunker. I'm a corporal. You do as I say." The corporal hooked a thumb towards the guard bunker behind him. A big bite had been taken out of the corner. A mortar or rocket shell had blasted through one layer of bags and split another, second layer, spilling sand.

"Sandbags for my bunker, many, many of them." The corporal smiled smugly.

"Number ten, pig." Skargo's nostrils flared.

"Alright. Okay, you can _all_ fill sandbags for my bunker."

"Look in to my eye…" Bulaven pressed his finger to his eyelid. "Dumb animal. Skuzzy lifer-whore—"

The deep shade of beetroot darkening the lifer corporal's face turned a frail white. Davir, taking the corporal's momentary lapse of situational awareness in his stride, slunk around behind the snuffy and drove his boot up between the snuffy's legs. With the windbag deflating on to the ground, Davir seized the baton and poked at the bruised pride. "Fucking turd," he spat.

"Aren't they gonna hear?" I gaped at the prone and groaning corporal.

"Cannon-cockers lose their hearing after ten years working the 132's," Skargo droned. "They use hand-signals."

Spitting on the corporal's clean jacket, Davir hurled the baton away. "You'll get used to this place. You'll change. You'll understand."

"Move, Larn." Bulaven, taking my shoulders, hustled me after Skargo and Davir, both beating a retreat before the corporal could call his friends.

"Tonight, I'm gonna be an Ork sapper. Set one off underneath that prick's bunker." Davir whispered, shaking Skargo's arm. "Keep the lifers on their toes. Too long since infiltrators got this far in to the rear."

"That happen often?" I asked Bulaven.

"No." Bulaven threw a glance over his shoulder. "We're alright. Less skuzzy grunt next time, D."

"Fuck needed the boot, else he would have jumped on our programme, hard."

"Number ten?"

"This is bad. No questions now, Larn."

"Satchel underneath that bunker tonight. Blow him right off his throne."

"Pace yourself, D."

Further in to Butcher's Rock, over a drained canal and sets of disused railway tracks, a siding led up to a warehouse, where the roof was open to the sky. Civilians, in similar garb as the three crones, shuffled about, carting wheelbarrows of what looked like rubbish. _Oh, God…_ Lead filled my boots, gluing me to the spot. My nightmare of entombment whilst conscious and paralysed had – in a way – come true, only without the danger of burial, but of the Ork.

"Larn?" Bulaven alone stopped to wait for me.

Hanging my head, I avoided looking at any of the civilians, treading in Bulaven's wake.

"Here, Larn. Put this on." Bulaven gave me a hard hat with a lamp attached to the brow. "Gloves too."

"Hurry up!" Skargo gestured from the centre of the tightly-packed 4th Platoon. "Going down, Car One."

"Oh, oh, he gets the gloves, does he?" Davir pawed at the pair of leather and cotton gloves, formerly belonging to Bulaven.

"Aw, shuddup!" The skuzzy grunts of 4th chorused.

Elbowed by Davir, I was promptly dragged back by Skargo. Two halves of a steel grate shut us out from the surface, nearly slamming in to me. Rattling loudly, the lift shuddered down. In the gloom, Skargo's voice sounded in my ear. "Can you hear me?"

Nodding, I listened.

"There's a network of tunnels beneath the city. Some connect with the sewers, others go elsewhere. We hack where the diggers tell us to, and hopefully we can cart up some ore today. Each tunnel is named after one of us. So, Repzik and Zeebers should be some of the newer branches."

 _Okay_ , _why does he need to tell me this?_ I scuffed my heels across the rough grate beneath me.

"Light." Bulaven, touching something on my helmet, powered the lamp. "Aah, might not need that." Jiggling my head, Bulaven turned the helmet-light off. "Plenty of light here."

Cables hung down shaft. At intervals, lamps were pinned to the rock. No sooner had the shuddering stopped, when a voice called at us to offload.

"Come on, Larn, get moving." Skargo and Davir, both behind, pushed at me to disembark, upon the doors parting. At the head of the platoon, somewhat against my will, I came face-to-face with a Vardan – most looked the same to me – wearing a hard hat similar to mine.

"Ten men down Zeebers, another ten down Repzik." The miner squinted down at me, his chin level with my eyes. "Quickly, quickly."

Again, bustled along by those behind, I gawked up at a large gallery, decorated with floodlights and dotted with many smaller tunnels snaking off in all directions, each one ripe with the _chink_ of pickaxes. _Where do I go?_

"Hold on, hold on." Bulaven, helpfully, moved around me. "This way, now."

"This gallery's the collection point for the ore," Skargo said to me. "See those sledges waiting over there?"

I followed where Skargo's finger was pointing, noticing a line-up of repulsor sledges crammed with buckets of freshly-hacked ore. With a free lift, the miners were now ferrying the loads inside, ready for transportation to the surface. Ahead of me, Bulaven slipped through a round opening in the tunnel wall, trailing a length of cable through his hand. "Cable's come unhooked."

With only the bobbing back to follow, I paused, on Bulaven setting the fallen cable where it had been hooked to the wall by a peg. "Lamps on, boys."

Fingers searching for the on-off switch, I felt a prod from behind and a growl from Davir. "Shag it, wetpants."

"Let me…" Skargo sidled past Davir and touched a spot my fingers had missed entirely.

"Ta." I settled the red glow on Bulaven. "Why's it red?"

"So you don't get blinded, when you go back outside." Davir thrust me in to the wall, pushing past. "Where's that sled, then?"

"Nuh-uh, Larn's taking the sled," Bulaven said. "D…? Larn takes it."

"Aw, stop motherin' him, Bull." Davir kicked at an empty sledge, left resting against the tunnel wall.

"Now, D, come on." Skargo took a pickaxe from a pile of tools the other Vardans were helping themselves to. "Dig out." He reversed the pick with one hand and held the haft out to Davir. "In both senses," he added, sniggering.

"D, you ran from no-man's land that night, tail between your legs. Larn crawled out; in daylight too. You cannot speak about him." Bull glared, raising his voice over the clack of pick-heads on the bare rock. "Took shrapnel, so he's born again, I say. A grunt through and through."

"Bah." D raised his pick high enough above his head that I shrunk away, bashing in to another Vardan.

"Watch yourself, foolish boy!"

"Sorry." I scooped up a chisel and hammer from a miner's satchel. Both were tools I recognised from my father's workshop back home, though applying them to rock, I had not the faintest idea of the technique needed. "What we looking for?" Curious, I shone my lamp across the craggy wall that ended Zeebers.

"The harder the better," Bulaven replied. "Mind yourself, Larn. Don't sneak up on any of us. You might get a pick in the eye."

I gulped, slipping in next to Bulaven, before he could swing. _What am I supposed to be doing?_ Much fruitless chipping later, I received a tap on the shoulder from Bulaven. "Mind carting the stuff up to the collection point?"

"Uh?" I swept my lamp over the fully-loaded sledge. Warm air from the repulsors wafted over my toes.

"Hey…" Bulaven rested his pick-head on the tunnel floor and leant on it. "Push with your knees, not your back. If you have to bend down and pick up something heavy, bend your knees also, and keep your back straight."

Meeting Bulaven's glinting eyes, I nodded and stuck a shoulder in to the sledge. The gentle hum of the engine grew as the sledge gained momentum. A request from Skargo to bring the sledge back, once it was empty, I responded with nothing more than a stifled grunt. _If you want it back so badly, you push it._

As in the kitchen, time did not exist in the subterranean tunnels of Butcher's Rock. Dour-faced, bearded shadows swung pickaxes in time with one another, murmuring hymns. Hands, reaching out for the sledge from the darkness, forced me to halt every now and again as foremen examined the quality of the ore, which, to my eyes, was just rubble. Eventually, I found the large gallery and shunted the sledge in behind the others, awaiting loading. Slumping against it, I tugged at my collar. _Oh, God, that nearly killed me. Why did I wear the parka?_ Underneath the hard hat, my hair was plastered to my head. Everything from my shoulders downwards ached.

"Are you supposed to be up here?"

"Um…" My head snapped up from where I was resting it in my arms. Blinking up at a foreman, I mumbled, "just bringing the ore up to…"

"And now you will return to your dig team, Private." The foreman tapped an axe haft upon the sledge's flank.

"I – I need an empty…"

The foreman slammed his baton down, the polished wood producing a sharp _clang,_ enough to send me scampering off in to a tunnel, sans sledge. Skidding to a stop outside of the foreman's sight, I switched my lamp on and played it up and down the tunnel. _Oh, no, this isn't the one._ I peered at the way ahead. _What's that noise?_ Catching my ear, a strange hum, of an entirely different vein from the gentle repulsors, drew me to a corner. Light came from an open chamber, wider than the gallery behind me. _No, I need the sledge._ Braving the foreman's wrath, I returned to the gallery and snuck back down to Zeebers, my curiosity piqued at the other chamber and the glow inside.

"I couldn't grab an empty. I'm sorry."

"…Ah." Bull leant on his pick. "One of the foremen giving you trouble?"

"Mmm, yeah…"

"He gonna get himself hurt going off on his own?" Davir shook his head and spat on the ground. "Now we've got no sledge."

"Lift one from another tunnel?" Skargo suggested. "Lots to choose from."

"Yeah, and only a few we know the ins and outs of. Oi!" Davir tapped my elbow. "Don't be wandering off down any other tunnel, 'cause we're the ones who're gonna be looking for you if you do. So don't."

"Well, it's just sewers, innit?"

"Don't talk back to me. Before you know it, you'll be knee-deep in blood, guts, and piss-water. There's worse things than us down here."

"Right, I'll go see the foreman. Get this sorted out." Bulaven leant his pick against the wall.

"Any toilets here?"

"Find a crack in the wall and go."

"Yeah, what D said. Nothing formal here. If you have to go, just go."

 _Is this what all sixteen weeks' training was for?_ I asked myself, finding a suitable orifice in the wall, and unzipping my trousers. _Washing dishes and carting rocks around?_

A harsh whistle, followed by a cry to put down tools, rolling up the tunnel, ended the day's labour.

"Ooh… time is it?" Skargo stretched his back. "Normal knocking-off time?"

"Dunno. I dunno, Scholar." Davir's thumbs rubbed his biceps. "Always gets me, that."

"We knock off at ten," Bulaven said. "Eat, sleep, back to work before first light."

"Great," I said under my breath.

"Well done, today."

I received a pat on my back from Bulaven, my stomach gargling in response. "Hungry."

"We'll eat then head back to the billet."

"I've got to go do something."

"Yes. Eat first, though."

"Doc Svenk. Let him know I'm alright."

"Ah, yes. Good fellow."

My breath came out a white cloud on our return to the surface, leading me to button up my parka and raise the hood. "Lovely Broucheroc evening," somebody said.

 _Throne, it's freezing._ I stamped my feet, tucking my chin down against the fur lining.

"Tea with a little to spice it up, huh, Larn?" Bulaven ruffled my hood. "Just the job for a warm summer's night."

"Warm—?" I missed the raised rail, flying forwards in to Skargo.

"Whey-hey, he's keen!" Skargo absorbed my momentum, turned and righted me. "You alright, there?"

"Picks his moments, doesn't he?" Davir tutted, skipping over the rails, without incident. "Might've done that down Zeebers and got your eye poked out."

"Say nothing of it, D. Let us eat and be thankful all of us – Deadly Delta – made use of ourselves this day."

Once back inside the perimeter, 4th Platoon gathered in the yard behind the officers' mess where the wastage was thrown, to eat off a line of foldout tables, where food leftover from the officers' meals had been laid out. "Grox meat, grain gruel, buttered bread, tea. Anything you want…?" Bulaven made a space for me, which was quickly filled by the ravenous Skargo. No longer able to see what I wanted, I reached between Bulaven and Skargo, acquiring a slice of bread and gobbling it down.

"Yep, more where that came from." Bulaven passed back a bowl of soup. "Vegetables and protein. Slurp that down. Some tea, too?"

"Ta." I tilted the bowl up, drinking from the rim, the liquid a viscous blessing from the Emperor. _Not a lost soldier anymore. I've found a place to be._

"You heading over to Cain Med now?" Bulaven said, once our stomachs were filled. "Want some company?"

"Nah, I'm alright. I'll dodge the patrols." I dangled a strip of grey grox-meat above me and chewed on it.

"We're past curfew, so watch it. See you back in the billet."

Pockets bulging with bags of bread and meat, I hurried around the command centre, wise for roving pairs of Vardans, bent on giving grief to paperless unfortunates, materialising. Outwardly, Cain Med was unchanged, still the same long tent, protected by concrete blocks. Slipping through the flap, I ran my eyes along the rows of beds, each one bearing a recuperating Vardan, with the serious cases nearer the far end, where the operating theatre was hidden behind a curtain. _Doc?_ I tiptoed past the sleeping Vardans.

"Doc?" A Vardan stirred. "Uhh, my stomach…"

"Ssh, s'alright, mate." I dug inside a thigh pocket, bringing out a bag of bread slices and tearing off a piece for the Vardan. "'Ere."

"Oh, thank you." The Vardan, pale and clammy, ate the bread up. "Water."

"No water, sorry. Just the grub."

 _Throne, when were these men last fed?_ Weighing up the food I had on me, I began distributing my bread and meat to any Vardans who were awake. Sick men needed nutrition more than an able-bodied lad. _Able-bodied?_ I rubbed the crink in my back when it twinged.

"Larn?"

"Doc!" I set the rest of my food upon a small table and went over to shake Svenk's hand. In medical whites and a surgical mask, the good doctor's ashen face had regained some trace of colour, seeing me alive and well.

"God, I thought you'd wandered off in to the night and got yourself lost. What happened, Larn?" Svenk shook.

I explained, in the short-term, of my ordeal in the pit, Chelkar's intervention, and my antics with 4th Platoon during the day.

Svenk's upper lips quivered, upon hearing my story. "Why, those bullying thugs. Look at us. Look at what ten years does to a man! Turns him in to an animal."

"Um, I'm alright, though." I shrugged. "No lasting harm."

Svenk scratched the back of his head. "Look, I'm sorry for dragging you along to something you didn't want to do. It's my fault you were thrown in to this mess."

"Aw, no, Doc. Don't blame yourself. I'm alright. I'm back with Bulaven and that…"

"That puts me at ease, that does." Svenk sighed. "You've got a lucky star shining down on you, young man. You'll pull through this, I know you will."

A tremor underneath my feet, rattled the steel frames of the cots. "Ork artillery?"

"No, no, you'd hear the shells in flight before the reports. Just a tremor. Been getting a little more frequent these past months. Could be what they're using to dig…"

"I, um…" I waved at the food I'd left for the convalescents. "Left some scran for the men 'ere. Just bread and bits of meat. Took it from officer leftovers. Go to waste otherwise."

"Well, it saves one of mine a trip." Svenk smiled, the corners of his bloodshot eyes crinkling. "You've a good heart, Larn. Take care, now."

"Be seeing you, Doc." I shook Svenk's hand again and walked out of Cain Med, heading for the billet and some shut-eye. Unchallenged, I reached Alpha Company's billet, unlacing the tent flaps and ducking inside.

"Whoo!" Davir barrelled at me, a rectangular object taped to his forehead. "I'm an Ork sapper!"

"Wha—?" I stepped back against a tent pole, quailing as Davir thrust a green clacker at me.

"Press it." Davir smirked.

"Don't touch—" Skargo swiped at the detonator of the mine Davir was part of, flicking the safety bar back in to place. "That's live ordnance!"

Hastening past Davir, I sat down on the empty bunk next to Bulaven's. "Why's he…?"

Clearing his throat, Bulaven aimed a finger at the mine Davir was prying off his head. "That's a Walloon anti-personnel mine. Tonight, Ork sappers are going to infiltrate as far as the 377th Field Artillery's position and set explosives beneath a boundary bunker."

"Ork sappers?"

"Yup." Davir lifted a bulging canvas bag up from beneath his bed. "And you're gonna be the one to arm this, young whippersnapper.

"What is it?"

"Satchel charge, numbnuts. Pawn your parka, we're ditty-bopping over to the three-seven-seven's bivouac." Davir tossed the Walloon aside, dangling the satchel charge in front of me. "You want to be born again? Take the fucking boom-bag and follow."

"Bull…?" I stammered, holding the heavy bag at arm's length, at least until my arms gave out.

"You want to play the victim all your life, Larn?" Bulaven said, his eyes dull. "You do what Davir tells you. I was in your place once."

Tugging the strap over my shoulder, I asked what it was Bulaven had done in order to be born again.

"Never you mind. I tell you, Larn, never look back on the past. Learn from it, but never brood on it. There is only the way ahead for you." Bulaven swept a hand across his chest. "Follow Davir. Do as you're told."

"We're getting one up on the lifers and their snuffies, Larn." Skargo winked. "It's how things work here."

 _What the hell am I doing?_ I plodded outside, after the hunched form of Davir, tightening my collar and hood. _Bombing a friendly position. I could be shot for that!_

"Hey." Davir slowed his pace. "Know the best way to kill an Ork? There was a skuzzy grunt I knew once, who told me that shooting Mister Green was a waste of time, 'cause they come back to life. So, he tied a satchel charge to the body and blew him in to invisible pieces. Most wondrous thing I ever saw. Flecks of steaming green shit. Course, the same grunt could only relax by tossing frags. More times he tossed 'em, the longer he let that fuse burn. Till, one time he pulled the pin and just stood there with it in his hand." Davir mimed a miniature explosion and whispered, " _boom."_

"Can you…?" I made to pass the satchel charge to Davir and take off back to the billet.

"Quit your bellyaching, scumbag. Come help Uncle D on a job." Davir hauled me on by the arm. "Not brown-streaking your way outta this one."

Once at the perimeter, Davir wormed his way through a gap in the wire that was well clear of the gate. " _Don't want anyone seeing us on the way out_ ," he whispered. "Careful with the satchel. Don't pull that red tab, 'cause we won't get far enough before it pops."

I scurried through the streets after Davir, dropping to my knees when he stopped on a rubble mound, burying a street corner. "Right where we need to be." Davir beckoned, seizing the satchel charge from me. "You see the slits?"

 _Throne, he doesn't want me to throw it actually inside, does he?_ A flush of warmth rolled down my back. Fingers tightening on my trouserlegs, I thought for an alternative. "How do I arm it?"

" _Ssh_. Pull the red end of the cord. See it? You've got four seconds."

"…Okay." Davir's hands pressed the bag against my chest.

"Oh, don't even think about leaving it outside." Davir chuckled, training a black muzzle on me. "I'll tap your knee. You'll be the victim of your own work then, see? I'm off free. Don't be warning the lifers, either. An Ork sniper might take a potshot."

Trembling beneath the fur, I slithered over to the partially-collapsed bunker, blinking through the brimming tears. _God-Emperor forgive me. But, I don't want to die here._ I found the pull igniter, squeezed it, and pulled, launching the bulky charge through the nearest slit. Wriggling back towards Davir, a wave of dirt sprayed me and an invisible fist wracked my body, a muffled roar boxing my ears. Davir's shrill voice sliced through the haze, "Ork sappers!" followed by him shooting off his lasgun in to the air. "Sapper attack!"

Within seconds, the artillery park lit up, with startled grunts blasting their pieces off everywhere. Davir's grinning face laughed at me. "Cor, that was terrific, my friend." He bundled me away from the cacophony of confused bleats, the artillerymen firing off everything at their disposal; an extravagant lightshow without an audience.

"Showed 'em up good, huh?" Davir cackled louder once we were far enough away from the artillery. "You're a proper grunt now. No more New Fish, no more wetpants." Davir slammed a fist in to my shoulder, knocking me off balance. "Welcome to the fireteam. You're in Deadly Delta of Fourth now, Larn. Number one!"

My left shoulder, limp and numb, I rubbed gingerly. "Number one?"

"Number one: this is good!" Davir skipped ahead of me. "Race you back to the wire."

With leaden boots, I made the trip back through the wire, a cloud of misery hanging over my head. _No, not number one, Davir. Number ten. Number ten-thousand. Wasn't it the Orks that did bad things, not us? Why are we doing this to each other?_


	3. Chapter 3

**_The_ _Gorynych,_ Gothic Sector - ****One month later.**

Never relenting, the invisible bonds on Izuru's wrists and ankles held her fast. Suspended two feet above the deck, naked, Izuru could only watch the comings and goings of the corsairs, their gestures at her, the silent words passing their lips; the grins on their faces. The containment field cutting out dropped her to the deck, her numb limbs folding up beneath her. Gasping, Izuru pressed a hand to her side, bleary eyes turning to a trio of corsairs entering the small chamber.

"It is time." A helmetless corsair, his cover tucked under one arm, draped a thin robe over Izuru. "Rise."

Wobbling upon her feet, Izuru donned the robe, tying the drawcord around her waist. Blinking, her eyes focused on a silken-haired corsair; dark and clear-eyed, flanked by two faceless corsairs, each bearing void sabres. "Where am I?"

"A containment cell aboard the _Gorynych,_ flagship of the Void Dragons. I am Derin." The corsair bowed. "I am to be your shadow."

"A shadow I need not." Izuru straightened her back, meeting the corsair's eye. "Take me to my children, now."

"The prince and princess would have words. I am at their beck," Derin cut in.

"My children."

"I know not your children's whereabouts, lady. I must bring you before the commander."

Led by Derin and followed by his companions, Izuru left the cell, part of a long corridor of identical holding facilities. Izuru had long suspected that the thin collar around her neck was a mind-shackle, prohibiting her mind to roam free, where her body was imprisoned, and find her children's consciousness. It left her feeling damnably alone, inwardly at least. The first groups of corsairs she passed, some in armour, some in plainclothes, oohed and made catcalls at her, one or two simply staring, whilst others whispered to their friends of the foreigner in the sheer robe. Straight-backed and stern-faced, Izuru kept her eyes on Derin's back, never deviating. _To do so is a weakness,_ she thought. _Such childish and lewd beings do not deserve my attention._

"Spare not a thought for these creatures." Derin's hand brushed the holster on his hip, when a gang of inquisitive corsairs strayed a little too close. "Away!"

The gang skittered back in to a dark recess, licking their lips and leering at Izuru. So much of the Gorynych's architecture reminded Izuru of the archival images of the interiors of Druchii warships she had viewed as a child, from the safety of her old home on the Craftworld Alaitoc. Dark covens, oddly curving, cylindrical corridors, some spikes jutting out here and there. _This is quite likely the nearest I shall come to seeing the inside of a Druchii warship._

"Druchii built. Corsair perfected." Derin glanced over his shoulder at Izuru. "Yes, remarkable, isn't it?"

 _Ghastly_. _No decent beings would ever find themselves lost in a place such as this._ Izuru kept that thought to herself. Enough to make Izuru dizzy, the ascension to the upper decks was made via a spiralling staircase so narrow that only one being could walk comfortably.

"Rather a peculiar defensive measure of the Druchii." Derin lifted the scabbard of his sword up to prevent it from catching against the corner, very nearly slashing Izuru across her nose. "Beg pardon, lady. You must forgive the Druchii."

 _Forgive the Druchii! It is not the Druchii that have wronged me._

Warmly lit, the decks above the holding cells concealed no parties of oglers, and were only patrolled by armed corsairs. A circular portal Derin led Izuru through contained a void, deep within the belly of the ship, yet filled with spherical chambers, completely transparent and open to all that dared look. Each chamber, a comfortable accommodation, seemed to float mid-air, with narrow bridges connecting each other together. There was not a single rail, handguard, or any measure to prevent accidents from occurring though. Across the nearest bridge, Derin led Izuru. Behind, the other corsairs halted and took up guard at the portal.

 _The belly of the beast_. Izuru peered over the edge, gazing at the darkness below. _How far do you stretch?_

"My lady." Derin reached a gateway, turned to Izuru, and bowed. "The prince awaits."

Ignoring Derin's offered hand, Izuru passed through the gate and entered the bubble, her heels treading upon a soft, spongey mat, spread upon the floor. In the centre of the bubble, a corsair, bereft of cover, sat cross-legged in front of a low table that held two cups of a green liquid. Blond and slender, the corsair possessed strong, angled features and a broad chin. A pair of grey-green eyes sparkled underneath thin, arched brows. "One only has to extend one's ear and listen…" The blond corsair stood, straightening the silken surcoat that hung over a breastplate, the colour of dried blood. "I hear peculiar tales – whispers – from the lower decks of a woman in our custody; a being of remarkable beauty." The corsair offered Izuru his hand. "Ulthyr, prince of the Void Dragons. Pray, tell me your name, graceful lady."

 _A flatterer. Pathetic_. Izuru folded her arms. _At least he knows where my eyes are_. "Where are they?"

"Tai? An herbal concoction, brewed with these hands." Ulthyr indicated the cups sitting on the table beneath them. "I shall not sit unless you do so too, fair lady."

 _Then let us see whose feet give out first_. Izuru's eyes bored in to those of the corsair. _Answer my question._

"Safe. They are safe in our care." Ulthyr nodded. "Surely after a month's solitary, you do not seek the simple comfort of a seat?"

"You will take me to them."

"Lady, let introductions take place before serious matters. I seek a name."

"For close companions only. And they would never outright seek what must be earned through simple, mutual trust."

"The offer of comfort and refreshments is unconditional. Through it we may talk business, if business is your sole interest. You would offend your host?" Ulthyr's brows shuffled closer to one another. Lines appeared in his forehead.

"Pretend not that this isn't a gilded cage with smiling wardens." Izuru smoothed the robe beneath her and sat down opposite Ulthyr. "Izuru Numerial. Ranger."

Touching his breast, Ulthyr inclined his head politely. "As I am, Ulthyr, prince of the Void Dragons, second-in-command and partner to her eminence, Saarania; princess of corsairs." Ulthyr smiled at Izuru's hesitancy to touch the Tai. "There is no subterfuge here. Let me pass you mine."

"Keep it."

"Very well." Ulthyr sipped from his cup. "Made from the Verna plant. Handpicked. Something of a pastime for me. You are of Ulthwé?"

Izuru folded her hands in her lap, refraining from breaking eye contact with the prince. _That would be an exploitable weakness. Let his questions break like waves upon cliffs._

"Craftworld, commorrite?"

"I serve neither."

"Yet, you were aboard a frigate flying the banner of Ulthwé. Why is this?" Ulthyr stifled a burp. "Mm, beg pardon."

"Were you wise, you would release my offspring and I, granting us safe passage to our destination, further passing your humblest apologies to my mentor, the great and noble chief farseer of the Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwé. He is well aware that I am many cycles overdue." Izuru leant forwards. "If you comply with my wishes, all will be forgiven."

The smile vanishing, Ulthyr spread his arms." Look around you. There are no guards here. You are unshackled. I am unarmed."

"A foul manacle bites the flesh around my neck, _pirate!_ Not a word passes your lips that I can trust. I will speak with your princess, not a subordinate. She is quite clearly—"

"Here to parley." A corsair, female, strode through a gateway behind Ulthyr.

"Your eminence." Ulthyr stood up, gesturing at Izuru to follow suit. In matching surcoat and breastplate, Saarania further matched her bondmate's height, a fraction over two metres, allowing both to loom over Izuru by a good seven inches. Pale and dark, Saarania bore the same angled cheekbones, pointed chin, and even sharper ears, than Ulthyr. Where his eyes were green, hers were a deep violet. _Quite stunning_ , Izuru remarked. _Physical properties hold no attraction for me, however. And she is a child-snatcher._

"Dear prince, let us a moment." Saarania ran a hand across Ulthyr's shoulder, all the way down his arm.

"As you wish, your eminence." Ulthyr stepped backwards, bowed, and, retreating three paces, turned to depart. "Shall we make appointment for a later date?" Ulthyr asked Izuru.

"Spite me not, my love. Your gaze lingers so." Saarania's eyes flashed.

Bowing again, Ulthyr left the chamber.

"Where are they?"

Saarania turned her head away, sniffing at the lukewarm tea beneath her. "A scant minute in your company and my dearest loses all sense. Not that he had any sense in the first place. A dear, but with no head for command."

"Where are they?"

The princess drifted to the exterior of the bubble, linking her hands behind her. "The question is, not where, but how."

"Harm either and your fleet shall burn."

"All three-and-a-half thousand ships, for two small lives." A broad grin stretched itself across Saarania's face. "Races have gone to war for pettier reasons in the past."

"I see you have never borne children yourself, pirate."

"Nor have I seen them harmed."

"Tell me..."

"That depends on your cooperation, outcast."

"Ranger."

"Pathfinder?"

"Ranger."

"Hmph, lesser stock than a pathfinder. One of poor breeding. Unable to overcome temptation…"

 _Poor breeding? How dare you_ , _pirate_.

"The more you try and hide it, the more apparent it becomes." Saarania spun, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Speak candidly." Izuru faced the princess.

"You do not address a princess with that language."

"A self-awarded title."

"You have no idea. Your veil hides much, half-caste."

 _Half-caste?_ "Rescind it." Izuru's jaw tightened. Her voice rising. "Rescind it at once!"

"Perhaps you can explain your existence further at your trial. But, on the other hand, I could make use of your eyes. Tell me why I should not have you imprisoned indefinitely, trialled then hanged. Maybe I should even send you to Commorragh? Then, your farseer will never find you."

"I can sever a blade of grass at 3500 yards. With longarm and blade I am unparalleled. Interrogation and guerrilla warfare are my—"

"I have no need of an interrogator. Your eyes are keen. Serve the Void Dragons as a sharpshooter and gatherer of knowledge, or die." Saarania showed a ring on her finger at Izuru. "Kiss."

Her mouth a narrow line, Izuru glared at the garish jewellery; a gold band with a purple stone set in the centre. It matched Saarania's eyes exactly.

"Aah, the pride of an outcast. What have you to cling to but life, young ranger? I ask only that you accept my offer and serve as an advisor in my circle. While you will be restricted to the ship, certain doors shall open to you. Quarters shall be provided. A steward shall serve you in whichever manner you see fit. A percentage of the spoils shall be passed on to you, after each operation. I see only one way this stubborn streak will end. Kiss."

Stomach knotting in to a rigid ball, Izuru stepped towards Saarania, a muscle spasming in her cheek. _Ulthranwé, forgive me. I have betrayed you_.

As distrustful as the so-called prince and princess first appeared, the latter made good on her promise to accommodate Izuru, granting her a sleeping chamber and an approximation of a ranger's hand-woven robes. _A mockery of cameleoline!_ Izuru tossed the folded robes on to her bed, after examining them. _An insult to all rangers! Why was I provided with a double-bed?_ The corsairs apparently lived in somewhat excess, by their wide, oval-shaped beds. _Does a simple pallet not suffice?_ Izuru threw the sheets back and ran a hand underneath the mattress. _Such comfort will be the death of us._

Forgoing both the faux-cameleoline and the robe Derin provided, Izuru sat naked, with her knees drawn up to her chin, watching the door. _Ilic, Korsarro, I will find you_. _Do what you will with me, pirate, but leave my children be._ Izuru closed her eyes, forcing a single tear out. Stiff and sore muscles left Izuru too uncomfortable to try for sleep. The smouldering fire in her stomach saw to that too. _If they will come for me, they will come in the low hours of the morning. Will Saarania keep her word that no harm will befall my children?_ Izuru rammed her forehead against the bulkhead. _May your soul be fed to the Great Serpent, pirate!_

What passed for sleep caressed Izuru's bare shoulders, granting her no comfort but the rigid, warm surface of the floor and bulkhead that cut lines in to her back. With one eye open, Izuru kept a lookout, counting away the hours in her head. The low hum of the _Gorynych's_ systems, ever-present, was marked by a disturbance in the background noise. A slap of an object hitting the floor in the corridor outside Izuru's quarters. _Come for me, treacherous viper_. Izuru sprang forwards, gathering her robe in her hands, bunching two ends of it up then pulling it tight; giving her a shield to meet incoming blows. Poised in a corner, Izuru waited for the assassin to make entry. _Confound it. I should have bundled my robes underneath the bed covers. Too late now._

With the unnatural disturbance breaking uniformity for just that split-second, Izuru flexed her toes, her ears reaching out for anything else to grant her insight to her assassin's preparations. _Will it simply be a grenade inside the room, or a blade across the neck? Isha knows, I cannot remain like this all night._ The folly of simply waiting for the attack struck Izuru. _Pre-empt the attacker. Strike first!_

Izuru bent low, striking the door release, and scuttled outside, raising her improvised defensive measure in front of her face. A bare corridor, devoid of any grinning, yellow-eyed monsters, sat patiently, as if awaiting something to happen. _Where…?_ Izuru heard a stifled gasp, turned, and lunged at a shadow hiding in a pillar of darkness, gripping a slim arm and launching the shadow sideways. Loose hair flying behind her, Izuru drove the assassin against the open edge of the door, ramming its forehead against the surface, pinning its arm behind its back, and kicking the feet out from under it. Lost for breath, the assassin struggled in Izuru's hold. Propelling it inside, Izuru shut the door and pounced, her weight putting the assassin upon his back. "I am not so easily intimidated, _assassin!_ " she spat, gathering the assassin's wrist between her knees. "A little more pressure and your wrist will be mine."

"I'm not – I'm not!" the corsair moaned. "Not an assassin."

"Then why slither about outside my quarters, snake?" Izuru took a handful of the corsair's hair and struck the back of his head against the floor. "Speak!"

"Curious… I was curious. Saw you earlier. You are not one of us…" The corsair whimpered. "Please, I do not want either of us to get hurt."

"Insincere!" Izuru wrapped her tightened robe about the corsair's neck. "If the princess employs half-wits like you then I have nothing to fear from these pirates."

"P-please. I will serve you." The corsair choked, his eyes rolling up in to his head.

"Until the princess orders you to place a blade in my back, yes."

"I know where your children are…"

Releasing the corsair from a choking death, Izuru shook the robe in to shape, donned it then dug her fingers in to the corsair's hair and hauled him out in to the corridor. "Let us see how sincere you really are, whelp," she growled, relishing the groans the corsair gave. "Come out, pirates, I have your assassin!" The challenges thrown at her by her guards, Izuru ignored, staring point-blank through the levelled muzzles of Derin's corsairs.

"My lady, unhand that corsair." Derin raised the muzzle of his lasblaster.

"Disperse, pirates! This whelp sought entry to my quarters. The princess will answer for this!" Izuru grated. "Do not look at me." She backhanded the squirming corsair.

"My lady, we will see this thing is appropriately punished. Leave it with us, please."

"Unhand me, damn you. The princess will answer. Take me to her, or you will never hear the end of this."

"Stand down." Derin waved the armed corsairs away. "Very well. But, I advise to take a gentler tone. The prince and princess are not keen on disturbances at such an hour."

"Oh, they will listen to me." Izuru pulled the corsair up, thrusting him in front of her, pushing him constantly to keep him off balance. "Do you know him?"

"Not by name, unfortunately, my lady. The princess will pass judgement."

A crowd of onlookers, corsairs in and out of armour, quickly tagged on to Izuru and Derin. Once more, their low chatter focused on the subject of the newcomer, as opposed to the cringing, bleeding corsair. Laughter and grins followed Izuru, with untold pairs of eyes striving to see through her robe at what lay underneath. Surrounded, Izuru pushed the corsair on to his knees, once outside the wide portal that led to the commander's quarters. Derin backed to one side as the portal spun open. Arm in arm, the prince and princess, both in respective sleepwear, came before the ship's company. "Caught something, have you?" Saarania smirked.

"Your assassin would have—"

"He is not one of mine. Perhaps it is paranoia on your behalf?" A ripple of amusement stirred the crowd.

"I would see him punished for the intrusion."

Saarania snorted and whispered in Ulthyr's ear. "Saeros, your curiosity attracts dangerous beasts."

"I – I meant not to offend. I apologise, your eminence," Saeros babbled. "Punish me."

"I will punish your friends and ensure they know who caused it. You, young warrior shall serve her as steward."

"I need no servant!" Izuru's lips drew back from her teeth, clamped firmly together.

Ulthyr laughed. "Besotted are you, Saeros?" Mock _oohs_ and feigned swooning from the onlookers, and the crowd devolved in to fits of laughter.

"He is yours," Saarania said, heading back in to her chambers with Ulthyr. "Be sure to return him when you are done."

The jeering crowd burning her ears, Izuru looked down at Saeros. _By the Mother, his years pale with mine._ "Up." She kicked Saeros in the side, losing some of the force before her foot connected. _Yes, I know how it feels to be the odd one out, young corsair._

"Perhaps a return to your quarters?" Derin appeared at Izuru's shoulder. "The mob will have forgotten about this, come the morrow. I shall see your steward is put to task."

"Steward…" Izuru rubbed a sweaty patch of skin behind her ear. "I have never needed a servant before, I do not need one now."

"Please, do not create a barrier between us and yourself. It will not help." Derin's eyes roved around the steadily-dispersing crowd. "This fickle mob would see any number of their own disgraced, if they could wring pleasure from it."

"Is that the sort of rat's nest I find myself in?"

"Unfortunately so," Derin said under his breath. "If rats could bear grudges…"

"Goodnight, corsair." Izuru inclined her head.

"And you, ranger."

* * *

 **Butcher's Rock, Bastille 7-3, 05:21**

A shaking hand rescued me from a dream about blind, toothless Orks, clawing about in the dark for me. "Wakey-wakey, Larn. We're shy ten of reveille," Bulaven said.

"Mmm, five-thirty nearly?" I groaned, propping myself upright. "Bloody killer getting up this early."

"Aah, you'll prefer it to Ork long-range snipers waking you at three-ish, just for the hell of it."

"Ork snipers?" I dragged my hand through my matted hair.

"Long-range sniper's just slang for artillery. You'll pick up the local lingo in no time."

"Bull, mmm, I did something last night…"

"Larn, son, don't let D hear this, but he went out before and scoped the bunker out first." Bull touched my shoulder. "He wasn't going to make you waste some of our own boys, just for a laugh. He trying to toughen you up and keep you scared, is all."

"Oh. Oh my…" I pressed my hand against the thump in my chest. "I had no idea…"

"Yeah. Keep it to yourself, alright?" Bull winked and touched a finger to his lips. "Ssh."

"C'mon. Hands off cocks and pull off socks." Davir entered the tent, reaching for my foot, poking out of the blanket, and jiggling it. "Scholar, shake a leg."

"Mm." A click and a tiny, flickering flame danced around Skargo's lined face. Throwing his blanket back, Skargo lit up before his feet were even on the floor.

"Bronchitis, brother?" Davir chuckled at Skargo's hacking cough.

"Pass it round." Skargo handed his lighter to Davir.

"What, bronchitis?"

"Drop dead."

"Thank you." Bulaven lit his own cigarette. "Larn?"

"Ta."

A line of glowing cigarette butts and clouds of breath hung over the bleary-eyed mass of Vardans, slouching in armchairs, awaiting the day's work detail.

"I couldn't find any of the food I saw you make off with, Larn." Davir, lounging in his chair, waved his cigarette at me. "Didn't gobble it all down, did ya?"

"Aw, so you could steal some?" Skargo flicked ash at Davir.

"Ow!" Davir leapt up, flapping his arm.

"Take his chair, Larn," Bulaven hissed, pushing me forwards.

"No—!" Davir jumped back over the arm, forcing his chair on to its back.

"Never mind."

Sergeant Chelkar's arrival and subsequent announcement provoked an indignant outburst, rivalling the ruckus of the previous morning. "All of us are on a dig detail this day." Chelkar ground his teeth, staring the hail of muck and flying cans down. "Fifteen minutes scran prep in the kitchen then it's down the mine. Alright, corporal, fall 'em out, let's get moving!" Chelkar clapped his hands.

"Scran prep?"

"We'll be eating lunch down there. They'll keep us at work all day, Larn."

"Can we go back in the trenches?"

"Ha-ha!" Skargo poked at Davir with his toe. "You'll think back on this fondly when Mister Green is lobbing manned rockets at us."

Corporal Kaulewicz's exhortations halted the chatter buzzing through Alpha. "Moving. Moving!"

Davir tossed his spent butt at Kaulewicz. "I saw that, Davir!"

"Bend over, he's taking you behind the factory, D!" Skargo spat out his own butt.

"Easy there, Scholar." Bulaven thumped the spluttering Skargo on his back. "Kaulewicz doesn't operate till past noon. He'll have a fumble then."

"Hey, Bull, your beard's slacking off. Get it cut!" Kaulewicz jogged up to us, miming a pair of scissors going at Bulaven's beard. "See, he's only as strong as his beard length."

"Kaulewicz, you know what ten-thousand feathered steel darts do to a human body?" Davir said.

"I've seen what they do to Orks. Those flechette canisters do convert greenskins in to lumps of shitty rags. There it is." Skargo prodded the back of Davir's cap. "Number one."

"Beehive rounds? Impossible. Figment of your imagination, Private. Beehive rounds are classified as inhumane, and the imperial fighting man is incapable of being inhumane," Kaulewicz said, nodding his head. "This is the only war we've got. Let's be happy with it."

 _Is he, is he serious?_ I glanced at Bull, who smiled. The seventeen minutes of scrounging for morsels in the kitchen to fill our brown paper bags with ended when the mess sergeant, steel-edged slices in both hands, chased us out, threatening to punch Alpha's collective hearts out if we ever tried to steal from him again. Out of the way, I noticed Chelkar and the mess sergeant laughing with one another. _Must be some sergeant's joke I'll never understand. I'll probably never even make one stripe, let alone three._

Crossing the dried-up canal with the others, I spied a gaggle of rear-end snuffies, attacking the filth underneath the arches with shovels. "What are they doing?"

"Oh, Canticans." Davir picked his nose and flicked the muck over the edge. "Remember this, Larn. Any time you see Canticans, you're safe from Mister Green. The Canticans ran like rabbits at the first sign of violence on day one, they run like rabbits still. A Cantican infantry platoon is about as lethal as a gang of old ladies throwing rotten veg. They ain't cowards, they just hate the Crotch worse than we do. They ain't stupid either, 'specially when they're doing something they enjoy; like stealing. They dig down in the canal most days, 'cause they believe the scuttlebutt about the rich burying all their valuables there, when Mister Green first made a claim for the surrounding real estate."

"Hump, you lot, hump!" Kaulewicz's arms windmilled behind us. As we moved off, Kaulewicz stayed a moment to spit down at the Canticans.

"So, does young wetback get his easy detail today, as well?" Davir poked at my buttocks with the point of his combat knife, on our entry to the lift.

"Until Larn's body is in the same state as it was issued to him, he rates light detail." Bulaven elbowed Davir. "Same story as it was yesterday for us."

The clanking, grinding lift bore the eighty skuzzy grunts of Alpha underground in gangs of twenty. Again, we were ordered down Zeebers where, again, the apparent pointless bashing of the rockface took place. "Why we doing this?" I asked. "What's the point?"

"Keeps us busy. Keeps us out of the way of the lifers and their stooges. The lifers like to pretend us filthbags stay at the front, round the clock. The mess detail and digging down here keeps us out of their sight, so they can re-organise their filing cabinets, churn out propaganda, and buy booze on the black market in peace," Skargo said.

"Mmm, that's exactly the type of foolery that goes on in the rear." Davir nodded solemnly. "We are closer to the Orks than we are the fiends in the rear."

"We are tight with the Orks. Respect for the big green bastards." Bulaven wiped the sweat shining upon his brow. "Got no respect for the officer-scum. Take the load up, will you, Larn?"

Thoughts about returning to the line dogged my mind, on the upward journey to the collection point. _Is this my life now? A bitter, freezing existence at the mercy of the Orks and the lifers?_

The tunnel floor quivered underneath my feet. Dust trickled through cracks above my head, finding its way inside my collar. _What's that tremor about then?_ I worked a hand down my collar, scratching at the tickle. "…Dust."

"Watch where you're going!" A Vardan backed in to the sledge, turned, and kicked at it, sweeping buckets off the surface with a paw. Dashed upon the ground, the buckets rolled away, spilling their contents.

"Now look what you've done." The Vardan shoved me against the sledge and stalked off, picking up a bucket and hurling it down a side tunnel.

I stared after the receding headlamp. Leaning over the half-empty sledge, I sighed, a handful of dirt dropping from my fingers. " _Slave-labour mercenaries_ ," I muttered, rubbing my empty stomach. Picking up each bucket from where they were sitting, I asked, "what've you got to say for yourself, then?" and slung each one back aboard the ledge. _Three, four, five… one's missing._ I kicked about the tunnel, playing my torch-beam around lazily. _Throne, I really can't be bothered with this. What time is it?_ I longed for the knocking-off whistle that would allow us to put down our tools. I didn't dare slack off, for fear of the foremen leaping at me from the darkness with their batons.

 _What brought you down here?_ I scooped up the last bucket, from where it had rolled a short way down a tunnel, just off the main gallery. Turning to take the bucket back up to the sledge, I caught a flash, just visible at a bend in the tunnel. _Is this the same tunnel as yesterday?_

Armed with the empty bucket, I trod downhill, edging sideways when the slope sharpened around the bend. _Oh, my word. Is this what the Vardans have been digging for?_ In the centre of another gallery, an object of utterly alien origins sat. Looming fifty feet tall, near enough that the tips of the curving arms could touch the ceiling, the object stood on a podium, well above the ground. _A gateway of sorts. To where, though?_ My skin prickled. _Is that metal?_ The entire structure, luminous violet, shone dimly, even with the array of floodlights hitting it. Sheeting crackled under my boots, the smell of fresh plastic mingling with the thin layers of dust in the air. Cables criss-crossed the sheeting, trailing to and from the spotlights and their respective generators, each one running silent. The persistent hum from the gateway seemed to grow, the closer I crept. Bulbous gems sparkled in the arch. A pair of four-legged braziers supported the arches on both sides. Upon these braziers, slim, curving statues with preposterous proportions, wearing bone-white helmets, adorned with giant, curving crests, guarded the gateway. A soft whisper of wind lapped at the hems of my bloused trouserlegs when I set my eyes upon the tiny, blinking slits in the guardian's helmet. _What are you?_

Voices, echoing down the tunnel, spun me around to face the gallery's sole means of escape. "Shit." A pair of mucky bootprints, brown smears upon the clean, grey sheeting, stood out boldly. Opening and closing my fists, I cast about for a hiding place. With the exception of the generators, neither cubbyhole nor shadowy corner offered themselves to me. _Can't use the generators. They'll see my shadow!_ "Aw, James, what are you doing?" I groaned, tearing up a corner of the sheeting and burrowing my way underneath the brazier I was closest to. One only had to look through the squat legs to see the grunt-sized lump, hiding in the spot a child might have chosen if they were playing hide and seek. Conscious of the horrid rustling the sheeting gave, if even the tiniest movement was made, I leant against the side of the podium and listened to the voices.

"…be too careful with the common soldiery listening in."

"Well, it's the common soldiery we need, if we are to activate this device and withdraw our staff. I would not volunteer any of my own to attempt entry." Many pairs of boots crashed across the ground, drowning out anything else that was said. Only once the last man had stopped shuffling, did I hear the officers' voices clearly.

"I suppose it is good we keep on with the other tunnels, despite our objective being achieved a good four months ago. Gives those brutes something to do whilst they are away from the front."

"Yes, General, my thought's exact. Again, though, I am averse to the application of xenos technology—"

"Again, it will be recorded, commissar."

"Thank you, General."

"Will a formal ceremony be held, Field Marshal Kerchan?"

 _Field Marshal Kerchen, one commissar, and at least one general._

"Celebrating xenos tech, Colonel Drezlen? I should think not. All of our staff shall be sworn to secrecy, on pain of obliteration."

 _Colonel Drezlen._ I held my breath. _What's this officer's plot about?_

"Field-grade officers and above, Field Marshal?"

"Oh, I should think at least captain and above. The other ranks can continue to man the trenches, and be none the wiser. Since the lines have been static for the past nine years, GHQ's staff can egress from the combat zone without repercussion."

 _Egress from the combat zone_. _What the hell is going on here?_

"Hear-hear."

"Yea, I say. Filthy savages…"

"I would add that we need a group of volunteer savages to attempt passage."

"Well, Commissar Valk, can you volunteer some Canticans for a little hazardous detail?"

"Mm, I might suggest Vardans instead, Field Marshal? Canticans are greedy, thieving, odious little people. Vardans are thick as oxen, yet rival a grox in brute force."

"Vardans, general?"

"Well, I would say Commissar Valk has his information spot on the mark. Make it so, Commissar."

"Be glad to, sir."

 _Lifer scumbags. How can they speak about the Vardans like that?_ I added another name to my list: Valk. _What the hell good's it going to do?_ I bit my lip, my hands tightening on the leg I lay behind. _I bet the others are worrying about me. Bull, at least. Come on, leave, damn you!_

The surface I leant against had long warmed by the time the gang of conspiracists left the chamber. Rising up from beneath the sheet, I gritted my teeth. Needles had pricked my spine, dotting up and down my back. Rubbing the tender area, I fixed my eyes on the tunnel mouth, letting out a terrific lungful of air, stifling a rising tickle in my throat. _Never thought xenos would protect me. Thanks for that._ I reached up, almost on tiptoes, and patted the guardian. _Throne, I was lucky with the muck I left behind._ I hurried away from the gateway, a spring in my step.

 _Zaineth sin-kel._

"Oh!" Whirling around, I stumbled backwards, clapping a hand over my dry mouth. The gems sparkled. The humming spread outwards, filling the chamber and my ears with a buzz. "What the fu—?" Inhaling and exhaling loudly, I crashed across the sheeting, fleeing back up the tunnel. _Damn the lifers. What the hell just spoke to me then?_

* * *

 ** _The Gorynych -_ Morning Cycle**

 _She appears somewhat bored_ , thought Saeros Darhathyr, trailing the felarch, Derin, and the cloaked and hooded Lady Numerial. _How do we please her? This tour of the decks has done nothing but stretch her patience._ Since taking her morning meal in her quarters – after Saeros had fetched it for her – Lady Numerial, escorted by the felarch, was taken on a guided tour of the _Gorynych_ , beginning aft on the upper decks then working through the centre of the ship to the bows, before descending further in to the ship's belly. _This exact route was no doubt given to Derin by the princess._ Under the felarch's supervision _,_ the ranger was shown the hangar deck, where the corsair's main compliment of Nightwing fighters were birthed, along with the squadrons of jetbikes and tanks for atmospheric operations, the _Gorynych's_ bridge, the engineering wing, the living quarters, the recreational facilities; all of it the princess permitted Lady Numerial to see. Scores of corsairs followed the foreigner with glinting eyes. Wide grins were wetted by flickering tongues, attracted to the ranger's strange allure. The lowest deck, the holding facilities, were off-limits. As a rule, only the jailers were staffed down there, and constant rotations were in effect. No corsair was on warden duty for more than three cycles, at least that was what Saeros was told. Lady Numerial's only comment throughout the tour was on the recreational wing, and that was only after the odour of the casual narcotics use had drifted outside, enveloping the three in an invisible cloud of stink. "No doubt, other debauchery takes place there." Lady Numerial muttered, her nose wrinkling.

"I apologise for my fellow corsair's indiscretion," Derin said. "Come, the portal chamber awaits."

"Must we continue?" Lady Numerial sneered. "I tire of walls and sealed portals. Let me breathe fresh air."

"The princess's orders."

"I am a prisoner."

"As prisoner, you would not have nearly as much freedom as you are currently granted." Derin indicated the ship around them. "This is her kindness. You should be grateful."

"A hound, lapping at its master's outstretched hand I am not. As guest, I am compelled to remain seated and silent."

Derin tapped the butt of his pike on the deck. "It is this or slavery. You would not wish to follow your shipmates where they were sent. The choice you made to serve the princess was no hard decision."

"It is a betrayal of the mentor I served. Long may he hold dominion over Ulthwé."

"Yes, I see you are ever loyal, Lady Numerial." Derin turned to Saeros. "Saeros, why not speak freely. Do not be a silent, brooding shadow."

"I do not give him the liberty." Lady Numerial's gold eyes flashed. Saeros's heart jumped.

"A second shadow you need not. Let the youth speak."

Saeros clasped his hands together and dipped his head, the attention received brought on a quiver in his jaw. "Would the lady see the portal chamber?"

"Head up. Straight back, young corsair. 'Tis rude to avoid eye contact."

"Look at me." Lady Numerial's sharp voice cut through the tumult in Saeros's ears. "Look _up_ at me."

"I beg your pardon, my lady." Saeros, flushing, met the ranger's eyes.

"Have eyes never beheld a ranger before?"

"No, my lady," Saeros stammered.

"Perhaps insignificance is all you are bound for? The princess is punishing your friends for your imprudence. How will they regard you now?"

A fist gripped Saeros's windpipe. "I have no friends, lady."

"You torture the poor youth for naught, Lady Numerial. He has yet to prove himself."

"Stand up straight and look this ranger in the eye."

On the command, Saeros met the blazing eyes. "As you command."

"Lead me to the portal chamber."

"Yes, my lady." Saeros bowed, waiting for the ranger to move in front of him. A levelled glare from her caused a jerk to Saeros's gut. He was to walk in front of her now.

Spacious though it was, the Gorynych housed only a single portal; a fifty-foot-high gateway leading to identical structures in range. "Yes, an impressive specimen," Lady Numerial said. "Quite the artefact, and useless to the Druchii too."

"Indeed it was, my lady," Derin said.

"What lies beyond?"

"Unknown. The princess forbids its use. We are unsure if the tunnel remains whole."

Saeros's eyes strayed over to the ranger's robes when she moved towards the portal, glancing at the forest camouflage and the swell of her chest. _No, I mustn't_. Saeros bit the inside of his mouth and further pinched the skin on his wrist. _Damn myself_.

"Stray no closer, please, my lady. The portal is in slumber."

"At full power, the portal saps exactly seventy-one per cent of all power output on the ship," Saeros said, earning him a look from the ranger, whose hood held the shadow firmly over her face.

"A prudent reason to leave the construct well alone." Derin's voice lowered to a whisper. " _Wraithbone listens_."

Shutting his mouth, Saeros squeezed his eyes shut. _A foolish remark. I am forever a petty pirate in her eyes._

Lady Numerial, taking another step towards the portal, froze. "Human?"

"Pardon?" Derin hefted his pike, moving to the ranger's shoulder. "Human, did you say?"

The ranger raised a hand and, fingers outstretched, pointed at the centre of the portal. "I saw a… just a glimpse. I was looking through the portal, as if naught but a barrier of water separated me from the other side."

"Saw whom, my lady?" Saeros's ears twitched. "Can we be away from here?"

"My lady, let us adjourn, please."

"A shape. Bipedal. There was a cave…" Lady Numerial stroked her chin. "I would meditate here, if the princess permits it."

"Wraithbone whispers…" Derin showed Lady Numerial the way out of the chamber. "Please, enough time has been spent here. Let us return to your quarters. Saeros, fetch Lady Numerial a noon meal."

"As you command, Felarch." Saeros scampered in the opposite direction of the ranger and her escort, dodging the prowling gangs of off-duty corsairs roving the decks. Saeros stole through the rear-entrance to the kitchen, in to the pantry, unobserved by the cooks. _A meal fit for a lady, not for a corsair_ , Saeros thought, swiping all manner of food he could find in to a sack. _Nothing venomous and no neurotoxins, Saeros._ Fruit, bread, honey, dried meat, and a flask containing an orange liquid of unknown origins, Saeros stole. Shouldering the sack, he scooted out of the pantry, ducking to avoid falling under the eyes of one of the cooks, who wore a cleaver on his belt. _And, farewell to you_. Saeros laughed silently, waving at the backs of the cooks on his way out.

Three decks up, Saeros stopped in the silent corridor outside of Lady Numerial's quarters and composed himself, letting his thunderous heartbeat calm. _Easy. Breathe in and out, Saeros_. Parting before him, the doors slid open to an empty room. "My lady?" Saeros took a step across the threshold. The bed was made tidily and the grey gown the lady slept in was hanging up in the corner.

"Loosen your hold." The ranger spoke from behind.

Saeros's mouth dropped. Slackening immediately, his fingers let go of the sack. "I'm – I'm sorry. I must beg forgiveness, my lady…"

"Why must you beg forgiveness?" Lady Numerial walked past Saeros and opened the sack. A scant second's examination and she thrust the sacks back at Saeros. "Human food, dispose of it."

"I…I…I stole it for you."

"You did what?" Frowning, Lady Numerial brought out the flask of juice, turning it around in her hand. "As a thief would…"

"I know how to acquire certain items…"

"Be silent. Seal the door." Lady Numerial lowered her hood. Uncovered, and with the light shining on her face, the ranger looked far less imposing to Saeros. Gone was the wild-haired nightmare who had dragged Saeros by the scalp, as a beast would its captive prey. "Be seated."

"Yes, my lady." Saeros sat on the carpet and crossed his legs, looking straight up at the ranger, sat on the edge of her bed. "There is a mixture of bread, honey, fruit—"

"Speak only when spoken to. We are no equals." Lady Numerial bit deeply in to a fresh peach and regarded Saeros, sitting before her. "Where are my children? You said you knew where, corsair. Tell me."

 _Not one to mince words!_ Saeros linked hands and swallowed. "The prince and princess's quarters. They are vast, so much so that the prince and princess only venture out to command us on operations. They do not fraternise. Ever. Your children are there."

"You know how to acquire certain items?"

"All small-arms are checked and counted at the end of every standard cycle, my lady."

"All I require is a knife. You stole from the kitchen. Find me the sharpest knife you can. Bring it to me."

"My lady, I cannot betray my kind."

"I do not belong here. Nor do my children. What does Saarania desire with them?"

Saeros spoke in a hushed voice. "Rumours…"

Lady Numerial beckoned with two fingers, both sticky with juice.

Turning red, Saeros bent to whisper in her ear. " _The princess is barren_."

Drawing back, Saeros started when Lady Numerial offered the sack's content to him. "I have your support then?"

Nodding, Saeros dived in to the sack. "By your leave, my lady." He showed the ranger the flask. "Made from pressed fruits. Orange is its flavour, I believe."

Lady Numerial took the flask and flicked off the stopper, swirling the liquid around and sniffing it.

"Good for your health." Saeros sat back down on the floor, trying to remain dignified whilst he ate.

"Why are you friendless, Saeros?" Lady Numerial took a sip of the orange juice, the peach stone still in her other hand.

"…Shy. I, I am a poor talker."

"You are corsair, are you not?" Lady Numerial dropped the stone in to Saeros's hand.

"Unblooded. Shy of his first operation. My presence offends you…" Saeros scrambled over to the door.

"You are not dismissed, corsair."

"I… apologies."

"Sit."

Saeros trudged over to the warm patch of carpet and sat himself back down, falling under the ranger's gaze again. "If I might inquire, my lady. You are of the Craftworld Ulthwé?"

Lady Numerial leant forwards on her knees, her slim fingers linking through one another. "Iyanden-born, Alaitoc-raised, Ulthwé-mentored."

Saeros's breath caught in his throat. "Kurnous. Never have I encountered one as well-travelled or as beautiful as you, lady." Saying it, Saeros choked, his hand flying to his throat.

"Stay your flattering tongue, youth. If skin has not brushed another's intimately, I suggest you seek a mate before your curious eyes land you peril. Offer me no pathetic excuse. Do you wish to play the victim in life? Or will you become the warrior I expect of you?"

Saeros raised his head to look at Lady Numerial. "I am yours to command, my lady."

Staring down her nose at Saeros, the ranger said, "you shall do exactly as I say, when I say it. Disobey me and I will make you suffer. Begone."

"My Lady." Saeros rose, bowed, and made for the door.

"Izuru Numerial."

Saeros half-turned, his mouth dry. "Saeros Darhathyr," he replied. It was a struggle not to smile when he left the ranger's quarters. A warmth arose in his chest, reaching right up to his ears.

* * *

 **Butcher's Rock, The Tunnels**

Loose stones swept the feet out from under me, sending me crashing down on my chest. "Aah, God…" I clawed at the uneven ground, dragging myself upright. From other tunnels, leading out of the collection point, headlamps bobbed and swivelled as Vardans tramped out to where they had stowed their lunches inside wheeled hampers. Ordered to seek my own packed lunch out by my stomach, I floundered through the hulking Vardans, slipping down Zeebers and sinking to my knees next to Bulaven, Skargo, and Davir. The sledge was back in its place, and home to full containers.

"We got a new recruit?" Davir sniggered. "Bit eager, in't he?"

"Yours." Bulaven lifted a brown paper bag up.

"Erm…" I wheezed. "Lifers… plot… portal… fiend marshal."

"Fiend marshal!" Davir, beaming, slapped his knee. "Couldn't 'ave said it better."

"Slow down. Slow down." Skargo gripped the back of my neck. "Where did you go, Larn? We were all wondering."

The names of the officers I had heard, I reeled off to the three, repeating several times when I tripped over my words. Skargo's mouth made a small O. "We know those names, don't we, boys?"

"Hmm, Kerchan's the big boss around here. Drezlen's a full-bird colonel. You say you heard a Valk? Brass hat would just love to towel-flick his way out of here. Scumbag."

"General Dushan. Colonel Vlin?" Davir's face darkened. "Bet they'll be part o' that crowd."

"Who did you see, Larn?" Bulaven placed my lunch next to me.

"I had me head down. Wasn't gonna move an inch." I shook my head. "Some xenos magic…"

"Shush!" Skargo put a finger to his lips. "Larn, don't mention this to anyone else, alright? There's no xenos here, 'cept Mister Green and his lifers."

"Naw, that's where the greenskins have it better than us. No lifers to order them around. Only the hardest grunts get to be officers, and they get to waste any grunts that don't behave. That's how we should run things here."

A rumbling cut Davir short. Taking ahold of Bulaven's shoulder, I clapped my cover on, ducking as dirt poured down on us. "Bull, I…"

"Getting more frequent, that." Davir hunched over, shielding his scran. "Aw, no, don't spoil my lunch."

"It's the portal doing it!"

"What?"

"The – the gateway's alive. It's – it's breathing or something. It spoke to me."

"Enough of him. He's gone 'round the bend, good and proper!" Davir cried.

"Spoke?" Bulaven grabbed Skargo and Davir by the scruff of their necks and lifted them upright. "A change in tavern is needed, I think, lads."

Their lunches spilling from their laps, Davir, Skargo, and Bulaven hurried out of Zeebers, with me at the head, holding my bag inside the parka. Once back at the collection point, the three put me in a secluded corner, as far away from the other Vardans as was possible in the crowded gallery.

"Hey, what did it say to you?" Skargo latched on to my arm and refused to let go. "Might need to see this one."

"No, Scholar, you daft grox." Davir punched Skargo in the back. "You went down the wrong tunnel, boy. Saw something you shouldn't have."

"Yeah, but it's the reason why this dig's happening. It's all pointless now…" I whined.

"We're redundant here." Skargo shook off Davir's hand. "C'mon, Larn, let's have a look at this then."

"Hey. If the foremen catch you…" Bulaven, raising a finger, narrowed his eyes. "D, up you get. Deadly Delta's investigating."

"Can't we leave it alone?"

"No, ssh."

The others' heads and shoulders scraped the passageway behind me. "You'd think they didn't want us to find this thing," Bulaven grunted. "Aww, my neck."

"You hear it?" I stopped before the bend. "Oi, listen."

"Nah, nothing." Davir kicked Skargo in the shins. "This twat's blocking me."

"Um, we're gonna have to get closer." Skargo plugged a finger in his ear and twisted it. "Hearing's not what it once was."

On the downwards leg, I waved the others out in to the portal chamber. "It's right over 'ere."

Davir swore loudly. Skargo unfolded his Guard-issue glasses and hooked the wiry arms over his ears. "Throne of Terra," he whistled.

"Bull, come look." I followed my drying footprints, over to the base of the gateway. "You hear it now?"

"What was it you heard?" Bulaven blundered across the sheeting, shaking a boot free of a corner it was dragging along with it. "Why have they laid this…?"

"It's quite striking." Davir shielded his eyes. "There's definitely something I can hear."

"You didn't touch it, did you?" Skargo scrutinised the odd, bonelike material. "Could be dangerous."

"Larn?"

"Uhh, I might have done…" I looked between Skargo and Bulaven and shrugged. "I had to hide from the lifers somehow."

Another tremor shook the chamber. "Nah, I'm not hanging around for a cave-in." Davir took off for the tunnel, very nearly colliding with another party emerging. It was led by Kaulewicz.

"Skargo, Davir, what the fuck are you doing?" Kaulewicz barked. "Not s'posed to come in here."

"Oh, you knew, did ya?" Davir sidestepped around him.

"Nuh-uh, you and the other three little green men in this fireteam are off to see the colonel." Kaulewicz's arm swung in to Davir's solar plexus. Davir gave an _oof_ and fell against a rock. "And you, Bull, Skargo, and the wetback." Kaulewicz unslung a lasgun, flicking the muzzle at us. "Most kosh!"

"Larn." Bull motioned to me. "Quickly now."

"Them officers are in on it."

"Right, a special meeting with Commissar Valk for the wetback." Kaulewicz snarled, jerking his thumb at the tunnel. "Up that tunnel. Fast. I'm calling the commissar otherwise."

"Larn, please." Bulaven dove for my arm. I shrunk away, backing up on to the slope, leading up to the gateway.

"Hold!" Kaulewicz aimed at me. "Not one step further, wetnose."

"He touched the xenos construct," Davir crowed. "He's causing this."

"Shut up, Davir." A flurry of arms hauled Davir in to the growing crowd behind Kaulewicz.

"I'm fetching Chelkar, New Fish. He'll punch your heart out, for sure." Kaulewicz came towards me, the butt of his lasgun resting against his hip. "You were never one of us, off-worlder. Little lost soldier, can't keep his hands to himself. You touched that xenos thing, that makes you a heretic. We hang heretics. I wonder how long you'll struggle. Little legs kicking there. The blue tint in your skin. The shit loosing from your guts."

"Alright, Kaulewicz, you made your point." Bulaven, his jaw set, glared at the noncom. "You're talking about a fellow grunt that crawled out of no-man's land after he took frag in the spine. Crawled, in daylight, after officer-scum left him behind. I'd have him in my fireteam."

"Stand down, Bull, that is a direct order!" Spit flew from Kaulewicz's mouth.

"Bull's right." Skargo's hands were in his pockets. "We don't take arms to each other. It's us and the lifers. You're not in with the lifers, are you?"

Kaulewicz turned his sights on Skargo then Bulaven. "Okay, okay, meat-brains. You are _all_ off to the commissar. That is all of Delta Fireteam, First Squad, Fourth Platoon. All four fannies." Kaulewicz trained his lasgun upon me. "Come down."

The hum surrounded me, rippling across my clothes. Kaulewicz, his eye to his sights, sent a blisteringly hot particle beam past my ear.

"Oi, that's enough of that." Bulaven slapped the smoking muzzle aside. "Like shooting at unarmed grunts, do ya?"

"Say another word and you're not getting a warning shot." Kaulewicz spat at Bulaven. "I want Chelkar down here!"

Upon my knees, I touched the raw flesh on my right cheek, fingertips pressing in to my reddened ear which gave off an acute ringing. Submerged in an invisible tank of water, I was dimly aware of the Vardans arguing. More rocks and earth fell in showers, dousing the Vardans in grey waterfalls, many covering their heads, others falling to the floor and cowering as the violent tremor shook the cavern.

"…out, get out!" A muffled voice screamed. The collective rush for the exit was engulfed in a cloud of dust. Howls echoed from the passage. Davir, Kaulewicz, and seven others careened back in to the cavern, each Vardan a grey ghost underneath a dust-coated helmet. Bulaven squatted underneath the gate and hugged me. "S'alright, Larn."

"J-James," I coughed.

"You're alright, James."

"You've trapped us!" Kaulewicz rushed at me. "Little shit trapped us in here."

"Oi, give over!" Skargo made to tackle Kaulewicz. "Leave the poor lad alone."

Kaulewicz, spitting oaths, grappled with Skargo, driving a knee up in to his groin.

"Leave it. We're wasted, throwing hands with one another!" Bulaven put a foot forwards and met Kaulewicz head-on, both men locking with one another in a scrum. "Stand down, Corp!"

Vardan ghosts barrelled up to the gateway, taking hold of Kaulewicz's arms and shoulders. "You've had your chance, Kaulewicz." Davir kicked at Kaulewicz's knees. "We're in charge now."

Larger chunks of the cave roof crashed down upon the floodlights, buckling the bodies underneath the weight, cutting out the light, beam by beam, until it was only the humming gateway left.

"Move, if you wanna live!" Bulaven picked me up and shoved me towards the gold-tinged cloud swirling around the centre of the gate. "Everyone through!"

Piece by piece, my body was stripped to atoms, thoroughly shaken, and forced back together. Blinded by the brilliant white light, I collapsed, twin trails of blood oozing from my nostrils, dripping from my upper lip.

"Where the fuck have you brought us?" Kaulewicz's nasal voice rasped. Skargo, on his hands and knees beside me, threw up.

"Oh… Eurgh… don't think Larn did this, Corp." Skargo wiped his bile-flecked lips on his sleeve.

"My nose!" Davir cried.

"Where are we?" Bulaven tottered about, his hand pressed to his temple.

"Anybody got their gun?" Davir asked. "'Cept Kaulewicz."

Towering above us, the gate, resonating with light, dimmed. It was the sole construct habiting the chamber, along with spikes dotting the walls and chains dangling from the ceiling.

"Don't reckon this is Broucheroc anymore." Skargo squinted at the needle-like spikes. "Shit, broke my glasses."

"The Crotch will give you a new pair, Scholar." Davir rolled up a tissue and plugged his nose.

"The Crotch hasn't given me anything since the Clap."

"Shut up, you two." Kaulewicz picked up his lasgun, unclipping the charge pack and shoving it back in.

"Oi, look."

One of a pair of arching doors at the end of the room spiralled as the edges unlocked from one another, parting to reveal a slim, tall figure in tight-fitting, gun-metal body armour and a bullet-shaped, crimson helmet. Quicker on the uptake than any of the Vardans, the unarmed xenos bolted.

"Xenos!" Kaulewicz exclaimed, firing a single shot that whizzed over the xenos's left shoulder. "Waste him!"

"Kaulewicz, come back." Bulaven's hands dug in to my armpits. "What we gonna fight them with, huh?"

"Bare bloody hands." Kaulewicz bawled.

"No, we fucking won't." Skargo snapped. "Let's live to fight another day."

"Number ten." Kaulewicz turned his back upon us, striding towards the onrush of armed xenos, appearing in the passageway before him. Exactly three shots were fired. Two by Kaulewicz, one by a xenos soldier, ending up with Kaulewicz and a single xenos on the floor, the latter bearing a black hole in his torso, the former with his skull split down the middle; bubbling, boiling flesh melting away from the smouldering bone.

"No, no guns!" Skargo put his hands up.

"Surrender!" Davir, also reaching for the sky, folded himself behind Skargo. The xenos's stampeding boots stormed around the jam-packed flock of bodies we became. Squashed in to the centre, I lost my footing and slipped downwards, my cry lost in the roar of xenos and human voices.

"James!" Bulaven's searching fingers grasped at thin air as I was lost in the trample of boots. A toecap came flying at me, slamming in to my mouth and scraping skin off my face. The grating shouts of the armoured xenos bombarded my ears, filling my head with horrific alien chatter as I drifted down in to deep slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

**_The Gorynych_ , Gothic Sector, Bhein Morr Subsector – Afternoon Cycle**

 _How easy it was to bend this impressionable spirit to me._ Izuru Numerial sat with her head cocked to one side, a slight frown on her face. The youth, Saeros, was fiddling with the internals of the mind-shackle, his fingers working the fibre-thin wires inside the narrow band of wraithbone. _This one will do anything for me. Quite smitten he appears with this half-caste ranger. He will be a most useful asset._

"Apologies, my lady." The youth's fingers brushed the skin on Izuru's neck.

"Concentrate on the task at hand."

"If I had the right tools…"

"Then find them, thief."

A shrill, pulsing alarm sounded in the distance."Boarders." Saeros's fingers froze. "The ship is assailed."

"Come." Izuru stood up, knocking Saeros's hand away. "I must see for myself."

"My lady, might it not be better to remain in your quarters, out of harm's way?"

"No." Izuru reached for her cloak. "If there is action to be seen—"

"For your safety."

"Damn my safety. I have been in mortal danger ever since I was brought aboard." _Is this the princess's doing? A way to lure me out of my quarters?_ "And do not interrupt your mistress. What underhive of inequity were you tutored in?"

The very first step Izuru took outside her quarters drew Derin's attention. Planting the butt of his pike in front of Izuru, Derin said, "I must confine you to quarters until the danger has passed."

 _How dare you_. Izuru stared the corsair down.

"I would…" Derin took his pike in to both hands and, without explanation, hurtled away, the two corsairs accompanying him alongside.

 _Damn this contraption_. Izuru clawed at the manacle. "Saeros?"

"Their minds were on the defensive, my lady." Saeros wrung his hands.

Izuru tutted, "come," and made after the corsairs.

"I may be able to bypass the twin circuits with the right tools…" Saeros tagged along beside her.

"Yes… later, corsair. Let us return to the matter another time."

A complete map of the Gorynych Izuru had formed in her mind, with the exception of the lowest deck, and the princess's inner chambers. Consulting the mental layout, Izuru ticked off the twists and turns, noting the complete absence of any guards at the portals linking the segments of the ship together.

"A common occurrence?"

"No, my lady. The sight of the ship's fighters, let alone the ship, is enough to cow most merchantmen." Saeros jumped when he heard a brief exchange of lasfire, pressing a hand to his chest.

 _That is a lasgun, if ears do not deceive. Standard-issue small-arm of the Imperial Guard. How did humans find their way aboard?_

"Be calm, Saeros." With the echo subsiding, shouts could be heard ahead. "Hail, corsair," Izuru called to a small party of corsairs, gathered around a casualty, lying on his back, a short way away from the gate to the portal chamber. Derin, made aware, strode up, raising a palm. "Stray no further, my lady. The order for you to remain in quarters was given."

"Is the situation in hand?" The sweet, boiled odour of lasbolts tickled Izuru's nose. A human stench was in the air, colourful enough for a fine film to layer itself upon Izuru's skin.

"How is he?" Saeros leant around Izuru to see the downed corsair. "Have we any others who are hurt?"

"Everything is under our control. The response party took a casualty. A human was killed also. Prisoners were taken. Please, clear the area before the princess learns of this."

"Humans?" Izuru stiffened. "I will not look upon humans. Only through optics do I observe their kind."

"We deal with human cargo quite often. Curious creatures." Saeros's attention was drawn by a cluster of humans, sitting down, with their hands on their heads. "Manipulative."

"Look if you must. But, do not approach," Derin said. Eleven humans were sat in the centre of the chamber, each one with his hands on his head. _Quite a pathetic species_. Izuru stepped up behind the wide ring of corsairs encircling the prisoners with bared void sabres. The corsair nearest to her gave a nod. "We know not how or why, lady."

"Filthy creatures." Izuru looked down her nose at the humans. "The stench…"

Of the eleven bearded, gaunt humans, all were clad in dust-stained, torn, fur-lined uniforms, entirely bereft of insignia. The length of the beards varied from human to human. Each one though bore facial hair. _No, not quite_. Izuru eyed a bullish human, sporting a dark explosion of hair that obscured his mouth, chin, and neck completely. _What do you possess, brute?_ A slim human in a fur-lined parka, the colour of stone-grey, lay on his back in front of the brute. This one went entirely without facial hair; quite the opposite in fact, and looked at least ten years younger than the other humans. _This last one is not like the others. Why?_

"Did you confirm the death toll?"

"I beg your pardon?" Derin left the cadre and came over. "The death toll stands at one human and one of ours."

"The whelp."

Derin shook his head. "Unconscious. He fainted possibly. We did not bother to check." In his hand was a human small-arm, boxy and scratched all ovee. A faint wisp of smoke drifted from the canted muzzle. "Triplex-pattern lasgun. The only weapon the humans bore."

"They were not expecting opposition…"

"Apparently not. Say what you make of it, Lady Numerial. We are as clueless as you."

"Execute them."

"The princess shall pass judgement."

"At least execute the culprit. The one that killed your warrior." Izuru's hands curled in to fists.

"I am afraid it was he my warriors took."

"Find another."

"The princess shall pass judgement, my lady."

A muscle in her cheek trembling, Izuru glowered at the ragged band of humans, picking out the speck of excrement under the brute's watch. _Pathetic. You, whelp, faint as a spineless animal would. Truly despicable._

"The princess summons her circle." Derin gestured towards the door. "Let us exchange knowledge. The princess will pass judgement on the prisoners. You have my word."

"That human looked so young." Saeros mumbled.

"Silence. You will join him."

"Steward to you he may be, Lady Numerial. But, Saeros is corsair and comrade-in-arms to me also."

"Undeserving of respect. Remember your position, corsair. Felarch, I would be seen to the princess's meeting. Let us hurry."

Bowing to her, Derin led Izuru along passages unfamiliar to her, now and again crossing over routes mapped in her head. _Shortcuts I can use if needs be._

"Why send one so young in to battle…?"

"Enough! I will hear no more about these humans. They are our enemy. Fit only to fall under our swords and rifles. I hope they taught you that."

"Is it such a personal affront to you, Lady?" Derin asked, creases appearing between his eyebrows. "It is unwise to hate your enemies. Personal feelings have no place in warfare. Carry yourself with a professional conduct in the field, always. Prejudice clouds judgement."

"Why thank you for your _professional_ advice, Felarch. When next in the field, I may remember some of what you said." Izuru's lip curled. _Hypocrites and liars._

A steady flow of corsairs streamed through the open double doors, leading inside a spacious chamber with a circular table taking up the floor. Arms of wraithbone, coiled around one another, formed knots that circled the ceiling, spiralling down to the floor.

"Hold." Derin put an arm in front of Izuru. "Apologies. One does not obstruct the prince and princess."

The prince and princess, both in full regalia, swept through the centre of the mass, untouched by either side. _At last, you show yourself_. Izuru ground her teeth when Saarania glided past, arm-in-arm with Ulthyr; tossing a superior look over her shoulder at Izuru.

"I see the commander is well turned-out, this day," Derin said. "We seek entry to the conference, corsair," he spoke to the two wardens who were seeing the corsairs through the gate.

"Felarch, your name was spoken. The ranger and her steward though, their names were not mentioned. Please step away."

"Very well." Derin retreated. "By invitation only," he said in Izuru's ear. "Back to your quarters?"

"Where else can I go?" Izuru glanced at the corsairs, chatting amicably with each other inside the conference chamber. "Saeros, come."

" _I know of a place you can observe from unseen_ ," Saeros murmured, on their way back to Izuru's quarters.

 _Not with the felarch watching my every move_ , _curse him._ Izuru shook her head. _I must concede defeat or be locked up once more._ Confined to her room, Izuru dismissed Saeros, over his offers to find more food for her. Alone for hours, Izuru lowered her hood, fiddling with the cord that held her bun in place. _The injuries those humans bore; the blood from their noses. Is it only pyskers that can pass through the passages unimpeded? Against all expectations, the humans have just proved that the Gorynych's strand of the Webway is indeed stable. So, they are useful for something after all, other than targets, then. Saarania knows this. How will she proceed from here?_

Dry fingers tugging at the shackle, Izuru lashed out at a patient knock upon her door. "You were dismissed!"

"I do not serve you." Derin approached through the opening. "A brief moment of your time?"

"Speak, Felarch."

"The conference." Derin offered Izuru his hand. In it sat an earbud and a palm-sized hand recorder. "Such sessions are always recorded in transcript for later study and archive. I have it here, if you would accept it."

"Gratitude." Izuru took both items and examined the pale violet runes adorning the recorder. "Archaic."

"Reliable."

"Indeed." Izuru scratched at the thin welts circling her neck.

"I apologise for the mind-shackle, my lady. This injustice will be removed in short order, though the princess is cautious around new faces."

"I understand. Again, for your aid, I convey my gratitude." Izuru made the sign of Alaitoc against her chest. "Now, go in peace."

Bowing, Derin stepped out. _Another simple being so easily bent to my will_. Izuru slipped the bud in to her right ear. _Another asset._

"… _can light be shed upon this freak occurrence?"_ Saarania said. " _I was quite alarmed to hear about the human plague spreading across the threshold of my ship."_

" _Well, quite clearly, your eminence, the humans, meddlers and degenerates one and all, happened upon a Webway portal and, as curious as they are blundering, strayed through."_

Ulthyr's voice interjected. " _Every word, knowledge we were previously aware of. Where was the portal located? Why were the humans so ill-prepared? The important questions needing to be asked are avoided as if they are cursed with a pestilence!"_

" _A human pestilence!"_

" _Aye. Dispose of them and be done with the matter."_

" _Can profit not be made from slave auction?"_

" _As it stands, I trust the Commorrites even less than I trust the humans."_

" _We are twenty-four cycles out from the nearest Druchii outpost in the Graildark Nebula. To return would confine us for longer within these choking walls. Fresh air, every now and again, is good for the soul."_

" _Fresh air it is then. A suitable planet must be sought."_

" _Once more, the question of the humans is evaded,"_ Ulthyr growled _. "I do not advocate auctioning them up, or even simply selling them at fixed rate. Acute emaciation, near-starvation is evident in the human's body mass. What use is a slave if he is not in peak physical condition. We cannot sell or even give away the dozen or so in our custody. I say confine them to vacuum. They are of no use to us."_

" _A sport…?"_

" _Sport, Vliss?"_

" _A hunt. Since fresh air and sunlight is sought after by most of us, I advocate finding a habitable planet, setting the humans loose in different areas, and employing the trackers in our company to hunt them down. A competition might be had. I will gladly start a wager."_

" _Is money truly your master, Vliss?"_

" _You do seem to lose a lot of it when we are playing, Dragut. Sore?"_

A loud thump of a fist slamming down upon the table, rattled the glasses, provoking outbursts from several different corsairs.

" _Dragut, sit down or leave the chamber. You forget yourself,"_ Ulthyr shouted over the ongoing arguments. _"The matter of the humans shall not be passed over. My vote goes to carrying out a system-wide scan, spreading the net further if necessary, and locating a planet with a breathable atmosphere. Your eminence?"_

A pause. _"Our honoured guest has yet to prove herself. She eats our food, sleeps in our chambers, and for what? Eyes have never witnessed a ranger in action. Let the hunt be led by Izuru Numerial. I will give her a full planetary cycle to track and eliminate each and every one of the humans."_

" _Putting a weapon in her hands invites danger upon you, your eminence."_

" _She will not be alone. Her steward and a felarch will accompany her. Air observation will keep the ranger in their sights too. Are there fuel concerns if a gunship remains on-station for the full cycle?"_

" _A single changeover will be necessary, your eminence. I guarantee there will not be a break in observation. Will it be an elimination order if the ranger takes arms against her escort and flees?"_

" _The ranger will not flee as long as I hold what is dear to her. She will return. If proof is brought of her kills, and she has fulfilled her obligation, I will keep her on as an asset."_

" _She is dangerous, your eminence."_

" _Able to sever a blade of grass at three-and-a-half thousand yards…"_

At the ensuing laughter, Izuru dug her fingernails in to her thigh.

" _So, will I be able to hunt, or…?"_

" _Ha, Vliss! Ever the mercenary."_

" _I hear rumours that this ranger is part round-ear. I cannot fathom how such a loathsome product was forced out from between her mother's legs, or even conceived in the first place. Child by rape perhaps…"_

" _If so obsessed, Vliss, ask her yourself."_

" _And be dragged through the corridors by your hair for your troubles."_

More laughter frittered about the gathered corsairs. Glasses clinked upon the table top.

" _I would see the fire simmering within her before passing judgement."_

" _Yes, your eminence. A system-wide scan will be performed immediately."_

" _Then attend to your duties, all of you. That will be all."_

A low murmur filled the room as the corsairs formed small groups and chatted to one another on their way out of the chamber. _Is that all?_ Izuru waited for the transcript to end, her finger pressed to her earpiece.

" _Tired, Uly?_ " Saarania asked.

" _Warm, clean air and an open sky is what I dream of."_ Ulthyr drew a long, slow breath. _"Do not let the ranger fly from your fingers. Here, she is within your power. Out there, armed, she will turn on you the instant you place that long rifle in her hands."_

" _Does the ranger take up so much of your thoughts, Uly, that you forget that we have her two children in our care?"_

" _My thoughts, with Vliss's and every other being aboard this ship, are taken up by this intriguing stranger, Saarania."_

" _Hm."_ Saarania placed her empty glass beside Ulthyr's. _"Intriguing, is she? How else would you describe her?"_

" _You would ask if I regarded her as attractive, my love? I wholeheartedly admit that such a foreign beauty holds an even stranger allure."_

" _Do you think of her when you are with me, Uly? Is it her face. Those breasts. Or is it what lies below that awakens you?"_

" _Invite her to our chamber…"_

" _Aha, no, not possible, Uly. You have as much chance of lying with her as Dragut does at beating Vliss at Opyx. With me though…"_ Saarania giggled.

Over the impatient swish and rustle of the corsair's clothing rubbing against one another, Ulthyr laughed. _"There is only you—"_

Izuru silenced the fumbling pair, replaying the important parts of the discussion until she had a clear enough insight in to what would be happening over the next few cycles. _Damn that lech for holding me in that regard. Damn them all for looking at me in such a lustful manner!_ Standing up, Izuru paced around. _Aerial observation cancels out any moves I might make to shed my escort. Saeros is coming, most likely Derin will too. But what good will it be if the twins are held within the princess's chambers, and I am scouring a planetscape for a band of pathetic humans? Useless!_ Izuru slapped her thigh. _What can I do but carry out the princess's orders? I must find entry to her chambers._ Izuru plucked the earpiece out and tossed it aside. Unfastening the clasps of her boots, she kicked the pair off and knelt upon the carpet to pray.

* * *

"Of the nineteen planets in the subsector, eleven are home to large urban environments, your eminence. Three are mining planets, anther three are so-called 'hive worlds', and two are classed as agricultural worlds."

"Well, do you or do you not have a suitable world for us, shipmaster? This sounds like useless knowledge to me." Saarania folded her arms and stared through the blown-up map of the subsector at the Gorynych's master. "Speak."

"Platis Five, your eminence." The master's hand spun the map around. "Remote, breathable atmosphere, temperate climate, multiple biomes. Ice at the poles, forests, deserts, mountain ranges, jungles, plains; quite suitable for habitation."

"Uninhabited or occupied?" Saarania picked out a small, blue planet in the furthest corner of the subsector.

"Human occupation I am afraid, your eminence. Though the Druchii's knowledge delves no further in to the human's disposition on Platis."

"Surely such a remote world – and an agricultural world at that – would house only garrison troops. Planetary Defence Force unsuited for off-world deployment," Ulthyr said. "We are more than two sectors away from Port Maw. This entire subsector is host to no patrols of any race. Platis has my vote."

"How soon can we make planetfall?"

"Less than a full cycle, your eminence."

"Do it."

"We make for Platis Five, your eminence." The master bowed, taking his leave.

"Did you ever wonder where the humans came from, Saarania?" Ulthyr leant over the map, his eyes flitting about the other worlds in the subsector.

"Our portal remains under lockdown until we can find a bonesinger with past experience on Webway gates, Uly, and no, you will not ask the ranger if she possesses knowledge on the matter. I have prior plans in place for her."

"The hunt?"

"I would see how competent the ranger is in stalking the prey. It will be a harmless exercise. I too yearn to see the sun, Uly."

"The ranger's children?"

"No. The ranger may spy opportunity to abduct them. They will remain aboard."

"Abduct them? They are her children, Saarania. I do not see how you can justify—"

"Well, could we try again, Uly?" Saarania came around to Ulthyr and perched upon the map surface. "Just try one more time." She caressed Ulthyr's arm.

"I caused you great hurt before, my love. Never again. Never again." Ulthyr drew Saarania in to his breast, nuzzling her hair. "This torture of the ranger dishonours us."

"Our line cannot die with us, Uly." Saarania turned her head to kiss Ulthyr's neck. "I value our lives, our dynasty, over any half-breed whore."

Ulthyr murmured in agreement. "Let us save ourselves for when the sun kisses our skin. Patience, my love. Patience."

* * *

 **Platis V orbit, Bhein Morr Subsector – Two days later**

 _At last._ Izuru opened her eyes at the rap upon her door, rising, and sorting out the kinks in her robes. Derin met her. Flanking him were six armed corsairs. Saeros stood off to one side, his head lowered.

"We are planetbound, my lady. If you would accompany me, please."

"Might I inquire as to our destination?"

Derin gave Izuru a knowing look. "Our current destination is a Tetron, awaiting us in the hangar, my lady." Derin invited Izuru to walk alongside him. "If you please."

"And from there? I was not privy to the conference…"

"Won't you wait and see?"

"Always this reticent, Felarch?"

"I am at the prince and princess's command, Lady Numerial. It is their kindness that grants you this freedom."

"Then I must be thankful for such gracious wardens." Izuru replied, her jaw tightening. _What am I saying?_

There was a good deal more activity in the Gorynych's passageways than usual, so much so that not a single leer or lewd comment was given; the corsairs too preoccupied with mobilising for planetfall. _But where though?_ Izuru eyed the hectic activity when she and her escort took to the hangar bay. Nightwings trailed fuel pipes, their crew buzzing about the fighters to prep them for operations. Tetron transports sat with their bellies wide open. Corsairs scuttled to and from the cargo bays, bearing crates of supplies in to the empty vaults. One container, borne aloft by a pair, fell from a corsair's grasp, landing upon the other's toes. The resulting screech was deadened only by the mask the corsair wore.

"A finely-tuned machine," Izuru said, straight-faced, meeting Derin's pale stare.

"Your… your pardon." Derin rushed over to the mob of corsairs, shouting and gesticulating.

 _Blunderers and malingerers. What sort of company do I find myself in? A human would be less clumsy._ Izuru tutted to herself, tucking her hands inside her sleeves. Around her, the corsairs stood silent, their hands resting on their sheathed blades.

"Apologies." Derin returned. "Let us embark."

Pressed in next to Derin and Saeros inside the Tetron's narrow crew compartment, Izuru fidgeted, keeping her eyes upon the deck. Not a single viewport granted her an exterior view. Sitting directly opposite her, the corsairs watched. _Damn this shackle_. Izuru tugged at the manacle _. I must be free of it. Derin is surely under orders to give nothing away in advance._ Leaning forwards,Izuru made fists with her hands. _Anger me, you will not, so-called princess. Know I will bide my time, for there is no one more patient than a ranger. Soon you will learn the consequence of coming between a mother and her offspring._

A turbulent half-hour later, the grumble of the Tetron's engines died away. "Never one for in-atmosphere travel," Derin remarked, picking up his conical helmet from where it sat between his feet. "If you would remain here, please. Take care when rising. Headroom is lacking."

Izuru glanced up at the bulkhead above, raising her eyebrows at the sloping angle that forced Derin to stoop. _I think not, Felarch._ Derin took five of the corsairs with him, leaving one at the far end of the crew compartment, guarding the accessway to the hold. _How many paces to the guard? How many other crew are there aboard? Does the guard favour his left or right hand?_ Izuru toiled over the variables for no other reason than to keep her mind sharp. _Too soon. Too soon. Opportunity will arise. I must play the part of executioner for now. A handful of humans are nothing to me._ Next to her, Saeros remained silent. Derin returned within the hour, greeting the corsair then beckoning to Izuru. "My lady, come."

Sore muscles complaining, Izuru followed Derin down to the hold, bringing a hand up to her brow when her eyes protested at the bright sunlight outside. "I can say with brutal honesty that genuine sunlight far eclipses the artificial light the craftworld provides."

"I can only imagine." Derin waited upon the lowered ramp for Izuru. "If you require a moment…"

In defiance of the harsh glare, Izuru straightened her back, lifted her head, and followed Derin down to a field of thick, green grass. "I would know our whereabouts now, Felarch."

"Platis Five. Apparently untouched by war or the industrial claw of the Imperium." Derin fitted his helmet. "I would call this a worthy find."

Two other Tetrons had already landed, their squat underbellies disgorging supplies. Far-flung sentries patrolled the nearby hills that made an upside-down U shape around the landing zone.

"I eagerly anticipate taking the air." Izuru scanned a line of conifers about seventy-five yards distant, searching for the unnatural shapes of the corsairs. _Facing inwards or outwards, I wonder?_ "Sights rest upon my heart, do they not, Felarch?"

"Without provocation, my corsairs simply observe. You have naught to fear, my lady," Derin replied.

"I am as much a prisoner here as I am on the ship. I have not forgotten my predicament, Felarch. You would do well to remember your position as warden. We are not friends."

"I meant unless provoked, Saarania has no cause to harm you. She is loathe to waste talent."

"She knows nothing of my talents!" Izuru spat. "I will not perform for her, for I do not wish her to see how I fight."

"You will have no choice, Lady Numerial," Derin whispered through his teeth. "If you give Saarania reason to dispose of you, she will. As it stands, you have done nothing to offend her. Give her a performance. Intrigue her. But, please do not antagonise her."

"The felarch speaks wisdom, my lady," Saeros said in a quiet voice. "He is not a bad person—"

"Be silent, whelp."

"You will do nothing to offend me also, lady." Derin stared. "Again, I would advise courtesy when addressing a fellow corsair. Saeros will do anything for you, up to acting against the interests of the Void Dragons."

A colour rose in Saeros's cheeks. Turning away, he brought a hand up to his face.

"And I would advise Saeros to begin acting his age."

"Take him with you. Show him what it means to be a ranger—"

"Against unarmed humans, I can show naught but slaughter. He will learn nothing from this but how to shoot helpless prey in the back."

"Teach him the hunt. Teach him to track; to live off the land." Derin took Izuru aside, out of earshot of Saeros. "The experience will mature him. Bolster his spirit with confidence. Too long has he languished aboard the Gorynych, passed over for a chance to prove himself. This will teach him the evil ways of this galaxy. Hunt or be hunted to extinction."

Izuru remained staring up at Derin for a time, her lips pursed. "What choice do I have?"

"I would say enjoy the air while you are able. The princess has yet to arrive. You are free to wander, though do not stray too far."

"Eyes in the sky?"

"I was thinking more about my corsairs. We have orders to restrain you, should attempt be made to escape. If restraining is impossible, you will be shot."

Izuru toyed with an idea forming in her head. "A full cycle, twenty-four standard hours in which you will all – every single one of you – hunt me. If I elude you, I shall rejoin your company, Felarch. If not, you will leave me here."

"Now, that challenge I am all for." Derin grinned. "If only the princess…"

"If only the princess."

"Am I welcome to remain in your company, or would you prefer a wander alone?"

"You may accompany me, Felarch. Saeros remains."

"Very well. Saeros, assist where you can. We will not be gone for long."

Through a golden-brown glade, Izuru strolled, the felarch by her side _._ Leaves crunched underfoot, brisk gusts spreading the semi-naked branch's leaves across the forest floor. It was Derin who broke the silence. "Denizen of craftworlds three, I hear?"

"Iyanden, Alaitoc, and so-recently Ulthwé."

"Your offspring are Ulthwé-sired?"

Izuru's stomach clenched. Clamping her jaw shut, she fixed her gaze on the natural beauty of the glade.

"If I intruded…" Derin trailed off.

 _I would prefer silence over awkward small-talk._

The felarch did not speak until he was hailed by a corsair. "The prince and princess make their descent, my lady. Come."

"Your pardon, I would prefer to remain out of sight for this corsair's gathering, Felarch. I can think of no frostier a committee for a foreigner."

"It is required, lady."

Izuru sighed. "Then let this pirate's party come quickly to a close."

"You have my word, eyes will not be drawn to you. I shall see off any unwanted pursuers."

"I ask not for your protection, Felarch, noble as it may be. It is not necessary."

"Just be aware, Saarania may use this occasion to discredit you."

" _Hmph_. Then I will show her just what this ranger is capable of."

A full pavilion with awning had been erected during Izuru's absence. Low and wide, the pavilion, resplendent in the Void Dragons' crimson and deep bronze, flapped in the breeze. Reclining couches were arranged underneath, platters of food laid out within easy reach. _Decadence to rival the Druchii's._ Izuru scoffed as she and Derin approached the gangs of corsairs, busy with the preparations.

"The _Rhazus_ approaches!" Derin's voice was lost in the sonic boom from a Zephyr-Class fighter's engines. Nosing over the treetops after a minute of remaining unseen, the sleek craft spun around, swamping the clearing with jet-wash.

"Quite a fancy for entrances, the commander has!" Derin shouted.

Izuru peered through the cracks between her fingers at a narrow ramp, extending from underneath the purring engine nozzles. Arm in arm, as ever, the prince and princess came forth.

"Bow," Derin muttered, just loud enough for Izuru to hear.

"They are not my masters."

"Bow, lest you wish to incur her wrath." Derin looked sidelong at Izuru. "I implore you." Other corsairs had already got down on their knees, their eyes lowered. Saeros, a pace behind, did likewise. "Antagonise the princess and she will pass you to either Vliss or Dragut." Derin glanced at a silver-haired corsair, bowing deeply over by the pavilion. "Vliss breaks the mind." The felarch looked directly across Izuru. "Place eyes upon the muscle to your right-front. See?" A hulking corsair, with a head shaved almost bare, save a thin strip atop his crown that ended in two tiny topknots, reared a full head taller than any of his comrades, even whilst kneeling down. "Dragut breaks the body."

"Then my spirit shall be all that remains." Izuru caught Saarania's eye. A tug on her wrist by Derin brought her down to the ground.

"Say not a word more, my lady. The princess commands here."

 _Tyrant_. Izuru, her knees in the grass, kept her head level and watched Saarania and Ulthyr move to the pavilion. Only when both sat upon adjacent reclining couches were the corsairs released from their showing of subservience. _Never again_. Izuru rose, beating the grass from her robes. "I would stray no closer than this, Felarch."

"Have no fear. The prince and princess will entertain in the meantime. Once boredom sets in, you will be called forward. I await it with growing anticipation."

The shadows lengthened. Alone, just out of sight of the baying corsairs, Izuru sat cross-legged, her back to the pavilion. With one ear vaguely keeping track of the hubbub, Izuru caught a change in the tone of the corsair's voices. High-spirits turned to disbelief then outrage. _The human prisoners are summoned. My time is near._ Izuru gathered her robes around her, turning back to face the clearing. From the belly of a Tetron, eleven humans, bound to one another by a chain, trailed a corsair in single file. As bedraggled as they were on their unexpected arrival aboard, all eleven, now bare-headed, walked with their heads bowed. _Kaela, this will be no challenge at all. I wonder if tongues were loosened by the solitary confinement?_

"Corsair." Izuru approached the pike-wielding jailer at the head of the procession. "I would ask the prey questions."

"I do not answer to you, Ranger." The jailer loosened the coiled lash hanging from his belt. Through the slit in his mask, teeth were bared.

"I am interrogator-tutored as well as ranger-trained. I would glean knowledge from the prey before the princess passes judgement."

The jailer's hand drew back from his lash. "My prince."

"What interest have you in the prisoners?" Ulthyr teetered over, a full goblet in his hand.

"The princess?" Izuru looked over Ulthyr's shoulder for any sign of Saarania. Too many drunken corsairs were lounging or stumbling around the pavilion for any sight of the princess however.

"Indisposed. Will you not join me?" Ulthyr wafted the sweet-scented alcohol under Izuru's nose. "Only the finest Saura for the lady."

 _That is poisonous! How can they drink it?_

"By your leave, I would interrogate the prisoners before they are turned loose."

"You speak Gothic?"

"Fluent."

"Well… ask away." Ulthyr sloshed his glass, running his eyes over Izuru before he meandered back to the pavilion.

 _Drunken lech. Awaken with your mind in tatters._ Izuru glared after the prince.

"Kneel. Kneel!" The jailer prodded the prisoners in the backs of their knees with his pike.

"In Gothic." Izuru paced along the line of kneeling humans. "Address the prey in Gothic."

"Why bother with words?" The jailer swiped a human's feet out from under him. "On your knees, prey!"

Izuru paced along the line of humans, each one with slumped shoulders and drooping heads, their collective stench polluting the air she breathed. "Where did you come from?" The rake-like human remained still and silent, sweat staining his cheeks, droplets running down to dampen his beard.

"Where did you come from?" Izuru paused in front of the brutish human, squatting low enough to be at eye level with him. "Where did you come from?"

Purple-lined, vein-streaked eyes stared back at her from under broad eyebrows. From the brute's beard, a mouthful of saliva flew, spraying the grass before Izuru's boots. "Fuck you." The eyebrows knitted themselves together, forming an unbroken line across the brute's forehead. His eyes had become twin cesspits.

"Shall I break the large one's neck?" The jailer stood above the brute, flexing his wrists. "Serve as an example?"

Another human, the next one along from the brute, caught Izuru's eye. _The brute watches over the whelp. How touching._ The young human in the grey parka shivered, though not out of any chilliness in the air. Both the tip of his nose and his wide ears were tinged with red, a stark difference to the drained colour in his cheeks and brow. _Are you frightened, whelp?_ Izuru pointed at him out to the jailer. "Break the whelp's neck. Ensure the large one sees is."

"It will take naught but a gentle twist." The jailer grinned, his hands wrapping about the whelp's head. The whelp's hands flew up to the jailer's arms, his whimpers stifled by the smothering. A spur of outrage shot through the other prisoners, some grumbling aloud, others getting to their feet. The brute was straight up, shouting in Izuru's face, raising his shackled hands to strike her. Hissing at the human, Izuru swung her flat hand. The blow connected with the brute's temple, silencing his building diatribe and putting him back on his knees. _Filth!_

"Unhand that prisoner!" Saarania barked.

At once, the jailer dropped the human, backing away and bowing to the approaching princess. The whelp, bent over double, coughed, his face a deep plum. "Your eminence."

Fire welled in Izuru's stomach. A muscle twinging in her cheek, Izuru turned to see Saarania sweeping across the grass, bringing along what looked like half of the pavilion's occupants with her; most of whom leant against one another, toted goblets spilling everywhere. "The prisoners die at my command, not yours." Saarania locked eyes with Izuru, daring her to falter and break their connection.

"Has knowledge been gleaned, or are they already up for slaughter?"

Saarania closed the distance between them, ending up inches from Izuru and looking down upon her. "Do you know your position?" The corners of Izuru's eyes crinkled. Pressing her lips tightly together, she held her tongue. "With me." Saarania turned away, motioning Izuru to accompany her and for her followers to disperse.

 _We are alone_. Izuru realised, remaining impassive and aloof. _Marksman follow my movement, no doubt._ A brief instance of curiosity deflected Izuru's thoughts from the princess to – of all things – the whelp. "I have observed the prisoners in detail. I would know why the whelp is—"

"Do all humans not look the same?" Saarania cut in.

"Thuggish and cruel. But it would be folly to view the humans as one and the same, Princess."

"Are you saying they have better uses than target practice?" Saarania's path led Izuru in a slow circle, towards the pavilion. "You will show us how fine a markswoman you are." The two drew near to a wooden table with two ranger long rifles laid across the smooth surface. "Captured from Alaitoc ranger cells. You are no doubt familiar with their equipment."

"So, now you are placing a rifle in my hands. What do you expect me to do with it?" Both rifles, a deep obsidian, bore green gems in their slim bodies and took up the length of the table. Neither had their bulb-shaped charge packs loaded.

"Perform for me," Saarania whispered, passing a long rifle to Izuru. "As each human runs, you use that weapon to end his miserable stain of existence. Take it."

Onlookers gathered around, laughing and pointing at the ranger, excited murmurs on the upcoming spectacle buzzing through the throng, a pungent aroma of drink invading Izuru's throttled personal space. _Isha, how can one stand a smell so strong?_

* * *

The strange woman in the green robes repeated herself, her cold, hard voice possessing only the faintest trace of an accent. _Oh, God, she's coming back._ From the corner of my eye, the stickie turned and moved back down to me, her face obscured beneath her hood. Lowering my head, I held my breath. The stickie's question Bulaven deflected with two sharp, biting syllables. _What have you done, Bull?_ I closed my eyes, awaiting the swish of the falling blade. Two cold arms, coated in coarse, rigid mesh, enveloped my head. " _Bull!_ " My plea was smothered by the tightening grip. Hauled up from the grass, I clawed at the stickie's hands, gagging as the fists squeezed the life from my lungs. Then, inexplicably, the stickie's hold slackened. I flopped back down, landing coughing and gasping for breath in the grass. Another female stickie – this one wearing a surcoat draped over body armour – yammering away, approached Bull's would-be judge and executioner, the latter's feet shuffling backwards, the former standing firm and meeting the newcomer's eyes. _They're at odds with each other,_ I realised, seeing the stickie's tightly clenched fists and pursed lips. _Why are they arguing? Is this about me?_

" _You alright, James?_ " Bulaven whispered, his bound hands finding my shoulder. I gave a tiny nod, following the two tall xenos on their roundabout trek. _Throne, she's got to be well over six foot. The one in charge looks closer to seven._

"Up. Up!" The pike-wielding stickie, moving around to our front, gestured, poking those too slow get up with the point of his weapon. A jerk on the end of the chain dragged our stumbling line towards the red tent, where a horde of stickies caroused. At our approach, hoots and yells erupted from the xenos.

" _What do they want with us, huh?_ " Davir muttered behind me.

"Kneel." The pike-toting stickie planted his butt in the grass, butchering the pronunciation of the single-syllable word in to something near indiscernible. Folding my knees under me, I sat down on the grass field in front of the pavilion, the Vardans following suit. The strange, gushing, xenos language rolled in to my ears, the accents and emphasis on random words utterly abstract. _What the hell are they saying?_

"You run." Pike-wielder thrust a fist at a Vardan six men down from me. "You run. Fast." More cackles and snorts of laughter broke out. A sharp clack came from the Vardan's shackles. Unbound, the Vardan was wrenched upright and booted away from us.

"Restor," Bulaven said under his breath.

"You run now!" The pike was lowered, its owner grinning.

Wide-eyes darting between the sharpened point and the xenos that held it, Restor's mouth opened. Shrill laughter came from the stickies. A lasbeam shrieked over my head, the warmth tickling my hair. The ten of us ducked at the sound, pressing our heads to our breasts. Thumping in to the grass at Restor's feet, spurring him to start running, the bolt kicked off a tiny puff of smoke that was followed by a finger of flame rising from the singed earth. Restor had nothing but open ground to cover for an unnervingly great stretch. Trees and bushes offered a tantalising

"C'mon, zig-zag, you prick," Skargo said through gritted teeth.

"Nah, no way. It's too far," Bulaven breathed. Restor hared away from us, his flight sporadically pursued by lasbeams. Each missed shot was applauded, with further exclamations given by the audience.

"They're too drunk to shoot straight…" Davir glanced at me. "Oi, they're pissed outta their minds. We've just got to—"

Restor's back exploded in a haze of burnt fabric, blood, and boiling skin. As if the floor was yanked out from under him, Restor fell face-first in to the grass. Outbursts of delight prompted Pike-wielder to release another Vardan. "Ziskl." Bulaven shook his head. "One-by-one…"

"You run."

"Huh?" Ziskl grimaced. "Number ten—" A shot burned through Ziskl's brow, melting the bone and peeling the bubbling skin back from the fountain of blood, launching from the back of his head to decorate the grass behind him. Pike-wielder spun, raising a finger and screaming at whoever had fired. Stomping between us, Pike-wielder waded in to the stickies. A chorus of thumps and yelps reached our ears.

"I've got some loose—" Pike-wielder's return interrupted Bulaven. From our number, he picked another stranger.

"You run."

"Jiesen. Don't hesitate." Bulaven met Jiesen's gaze. "Move!"

A rushed oath flying from Jiesen's lips, the Vardan bolted. Wild shots snapped at Jiesen, pursuing his headlong flight from death.

"That's it, do the S-shape, Ji."

"C'mon, Ji, mate."

Little bigger than a speck to me, Jiesen pirouetted and fell on his back. "Was he hit?" Davir said in my ear. "I didn't see no blood."

"Maybe they'll let it go?" Skargo took off his glasses and squinted at the dark shape. Pike-wielder hefted his weapon and sprinted out to the body. _Throne, he's fast. How the hell does he move so quick with that armour on?_

"Oh, God-Emperor…" I croaked. Pike-wielder rammed his weapon in to Jiesen, twisted, then kicked the body away. The shining bladehead he held up in the air, to raucous approval.

 _Eight more of us._ I looked to Bulaven, Davir, and Skargo. _What do we do?_

"I might have something. Standby." Bulaven licked his lips. "Just wait."

Pike-wielder dragged Jiesen and Restor's bodies back by their ankles, dumping them with Ziskl in a spot away from the tent. "James, put your hand out. Pass these cartridges to D."

"You get overlooked?" D picked the brass slugs from my hands and passed some to Skargo.

"They're gonna burn the bodies. When one of us runs, dump 'em in the fire. Wait for it to get hot first though."

 _Throne, Bull's right._ A splatter of liquid fuel soaked the three bodies. Pike-wielder hurled the container away and tossed a crackling flare in their midst. "Another!" he crowed, raising two fingers.

"Oh, shit." Fraught glances were passed up and down the file. _Two of us now?_ A tremble took over in my jaw. I stuffed my hand in to the folds of Bull's jacket. Pike-wielder leered at Skargo, snatching the glasses from him and crushing them in his hands. "Two run. Two run." Davir, shaking, was pulled up alongside Skargo. Nodding, Bulaven winked and tilted his head at the developing blaze. "Dump 'em."

A hushed silence fell over the crowd, with only the snapping of weapons receiving ammunition making any noise. I held my breath, tracking Davir and Skargo, who skewed to the right and scattered their cartridges as they leapt over the bodies. "That's it. Split-split-split." Bulaven grinned. "Cover your ears, James."

* * *

 _What sport is to be had in the clumsy elimination of defenceless humans?_ Izuru leant against a stout support, holding the corner of the pavilion up and looked on, her arms folded, as the jailer made a pile with the three dead humans and set them alight. The next to be selected, a pair this time – a weaselly runt and a bony redhead with glasses the jailer smashed – broke to the right, heading for the flames and leaping through. _Why the detour?_ Izuru caught a faint glint of something disappearing in to the fire. _What did they drop there?_ Izuru pushed away from the post and opened her mouth. "Your eminence," she called. Terrific pops pelted her ears. Tides of screaming corsairs scattered, crashing in to one another, falling over tables, sending food and drink scattering. Snap shots zipped outwards as the prince and princess's bodyguards unloaded on the surrounding landscape. Pushing and shoving her way through the bedlam, Izuru caught sight of the fleeing pair of humans. "Shoot the humans. Shoot the humans!" The precious few lasblasters that fired came nowhere near, their operators had not a single trace of hand-eye coordination left in their addled brains. "Fools, drunken fools!" Izuru bellowed. "The humans threw cartridges in the fire. You shoot at your shadows!"

Princess Saarania reclined in the middle of the chaos, Ulthyr's head resting in her lap. Bodyguards had formed a thick cordon around her. "Princess." Izuru glared at a helmeted corsair who pushed the muzzle of his lasblaster at her. "Princess, the humans deposited cartridges in to the fire. This bedlam is for naught."

"Oh, release the others and hunt them down one-by-one." Saarania waved her hand. "I tire of this farce. I am indisposed." She slapped her bondmate's cheek. Ulthyr had passed out. "As is he." Saarania pried a bulbous charge pack, intended for a long rifle, from where it was clipped to a corsair's belt and tossed it to Izuru. "Do come back. Or don't come back. We are away once the sun dips below the horizon."

"I will not carry out this elimination order unless bondage is removed." Izuru tapped the mind-shackle. A silent order was given by Saarania, and a corsair came forwards. For a moment he interfaced with the shackle, then Izuru's mind was free. With the floodgates opened, Izuru burst outwards, her consciousness bouncing off that of every other being nearby. Saarania rebuffed the inquisitive prod, smirking.

Quietly cursing the humans, Izuru found the jailer restraining the prisoners and ordered him to release the remaining six. "The princess's orders," she added. "Do it now." Shackle by shackle dropped to the ground, unbinding the half dozen humans. Izuru sought the long rifles and found Saeros at the table, one of the pieces in his hands. "Put down that weapon. You are not trained in its use, corsair," Izuru snapped. "I would not run with an amateur."

"Recall the words we had before," Derin said from behind her. "Teach him the hunt."

"He will hinder more than he will help. I would be better suited with you accompanying me." Izuru screwed the charge pack in to the long rifle's socket.

"Well, that is exactly what is going to happen." Derin smiled. "The princess's orders."

Izuru slung the long rifle and regarded the corsairs, short and tall. "Fall behind and I will not return for you. Let us fly."

A change in the wind drew the sweetly smouldering stench of flesh across the pavilion, with thin streams of smoke following. Already, the six humans were mere smudges in the distance. "Observe." Izuru led Saeros and Derin away from the smoke and sat down, crossing her legs and resting her weapon in her arms. "I can teach you naught. You will learn naught while you are in my company because I shall teach you naught. All you may do is observe and follow my lead. Do you both understand?"

"Perfectly, Lady Numerial."

"Yes, my lady." Saeros sat bolt upright beside Derin. "Shouldn't we be giving chase?"

"Quiet now, young Saeros. Let the lady demonstrate."

The triple-tapping warble of her heartbeat rescinding to more-comfortable levels, Izuru stroked the rifle's smooth body, humming to it, extending her mind to greet it. _Khaine steady my aim, for I am out of practice._ Izuru gathered every last scrap of air inside her lungs and exhaled, loosening her muscles. _One with the weapon_. Opening her eyes, Izuru picked out a speck of colour, moving right to left, lifted her rifle and shouldered in a single motion. _For you, Father_. Izuru's finger touched the firing stud. Without pause, a beam, invisible to the naked eye, surged from the muzzle, the arrow-straight path leaving nothing but a thin trail of kicked-up dirt in the air. It covered the three-hundred and fifty yards in less time it took Izuru to blink. Raising her muzzle, Izuru checked the charge and slung the rifle.

"You did not even look." Saeros gaped.

"The human fell. She made her tally." Derin pressed the butt of his long rifle in to the ground, springing to his feet. "After the rest. Follow the lady, Saeros. Keep from falling behind. I will not wait, and she will most certainly not wait."

* * *

Leaves whipped at my face, tree branches dragging at my sleeves and trouserlegs. With the sunlight receding behind me, I tore through thickets, my feet carrying me downhill. "Here. Down here!" Bulaven called.

"Where?" I gasped, skidding down on my side underneath a bush. "Bull?"

"Here." Bull's hands reached out to me. "No-no, don't stop here. They'll be coming."

"Where's Skargo?"

"Down here." Skargo's voice came from further down the slope. "Any more with you, Bull?"

"Just Larn."

"Right, fall in, boys. We're pullin' back."

"After Skargo, James. Do what they do." Bulaven propelled me after Skargo, Davir, and three other Vardans. "Nice job with the brass, Scholar. Put the shit up the stickies."

"Wha' 'bout me, huh?" Davir cried. "I did just as—"

"Shush, shush! Noise discipline, my boys. Stickies can hear good, see better, and run faster than us. Spread out and keep quiet. Speed and caution," Skargo whispered, gesturing at us to increase our dispersion.

"Thought I'd never see a bloody forest or even a speck of green in my sorry clap-ridden life again." Bull hissed to me. "The Crotch sure has issued us a gold-covered turd of a detail with these stickies. Fuck!"

"Oi, Bull, we gotta keep quiet, yeah. Skargo says." I shook my head.

Bull merely winked. "We handled greenskins. We can handle stickies, sure as the Crotch gave us back our freedom just now."

 _What about those four the stickies murdered? What were their names again?_

"Chin up. Always looks ahead, James, never back. That what keeps us going, and it's gonna keep you going when we're gone."

 _But who's going to show me what to when you're gone then? I can't go on alone. I don't know anything._ I shuddered at the thought of losing my friends, even if they did not regard me in the same way.

"Hurry, hurry." Bull picked up his pace. "Move it, James."

Downhill we hared, the gentle slope easing our flight from the stickies _. How many? How far?_ Seven pairs ofstarved, greedy lungs groaned for oxygen. Not a sound came from the seven, aside from grunts and the thumping of boots upon grass and dead tree branches. _How long?_ Time was now measured only in the soreness of my feet and heavy ache in my limbs. The sun's sparse glint could only peer through cracks in the forest roof at us.

"Oh!" A whizz-crack of a projectile passed over my head, searing through thin boughs to burn a black hole in a dry tree trunk.

"Ssh, s'okay, they're firing high. They don't know where we are." Bull flapped an arm at me. "Keep going."

 _If that was a near-miss, what's a direct hit going to look like? Throne, that could have been me._ I slapped a stitch in my side, spitting at the ground passing below my feet. "I've gotta stop, Bull."

"Can't stop, m'boy. Dig out."

A harsh oath spat out by a Vardan brought me to a stumbling halt. "Who's that?"

"Help, I'm wedged!" A Vardan was stuck in the ground, his lower torso and legs completely invisible. "C'mon, gimme a hand here."

Hands hauled the Vardan up from the hole. Both his boots and trouser hems were sodden. "Aw, it's flooded down there. Bloody soaked through," the Vardan exclaimed.

"That's a man-made hole, no question." Skargo peered in. "Not alone out here, boys."

"Yeah, can we—" The tree trunk behind us bursting in half cut the Vardan off.

"Move!" Bulaven pushed me away from the others. "James, get outta here."

"Split up!" Davir cried.

"No, stay together." Skargo kicked at anybody too slow to move.

"Aren't they getting tired o' this by now?" Somebody snarled.

"Shush! No, cause they're following your voice, Krest." Skargo shot.

More lasfire pursued us, zipping through the underbrush, kicking off tiny fires here and there. _How the hell are we supposed to outrun stickies?_ On and on we ran, still shots came after us. _How many stickies?_

Bulaven caught me as I was hopping around a thick tree root and lifted me behind the trunk. "There's only a few of 'em. I've been counting the shots."

"What?" I panted. "How many then?"

"Four, maybe five. Could be less but I reckon it's around that number. Down you go." Bulaven's slab-hands lowered me to a hollow where the others had taken cover.

"Fuck it, I'm ballbagged." Davir flexed his toes inside his boots. "Haven't had to run that fast since I had to scarper from the colonel on Alva Four."

"Why d'you…?"

"Shagged his daughter, didn't I?" Davir stuck a hand down his waistband. "Perky little fifteen-year-old."

"Not now, D!" Skargo cuffed Davir about his ear.

"Wouldn't have minded seconds too…"

"Ssh!"

"Give it a minute, boys. See what Bull spots."

Perched upon the edge of a gnarly tree root, I leant forwards, easing the oxygen in to my lungs. A hand patted me on the shoulder. Whose hand it was, I did not know.

"Hey, they've stopped shooting," Davir said, his hands full with retying his laces. "Maybe they lost us."

"Don't want to be inviting anything upon us now, do ya, D?" A Vardan made a grab for Davir's crotch. "Left a present for you, did she?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle." D stretched out his leg and nudged at me. "Don't be taking advice from Uncle D now, ballbag. I'm a bad influence."

"Pfft." Skargo stifled a chortle. "Looks like the brains still haven't leaked out your headgear there, D."

"Never had any to start with, Scholar. The Crotch don't recruit you for your brains, 'less of course you're a lifer. We grunts get wasted so the lifers can win medals, handjobs, and promotions from the generals."

"Nothing truer spoken."

"Yup."

"But I ain't dying to these xenos fucks. No, sir, I'm taking lead or frag from a human being." Davir's face sunk. "Not getting wasted on account of stickies. I'm choosing my way out, thank you very much."

"Sorry for dragging you in to this," I said. "All o' you, I'm sorry."

Bulaven dropped down to us before anybody could reply. "Okay, Scholar, let's move 'em out. Maybe single file now, eh?"

"Ho." Skargo made to take his glasses from his breast pocket then slapped his hand against it. "Xenos bastards broke my glasses. Shits."

"Oh, that's torn it. They'd better head for the hills now they've got you gunning for 'em." Bulaven chuckled. "James, move out."

Heading out in single file now, the seven padded onwards. Third in the line behind Davir and in front of Bulaven, I threw glances at the distant canopy, where strips of grey sky offered the most fleeting traces of light and frugal warmth. "Eyes on the ground, James. Keep an eye out."

 _That hole back there. Just who dug that then? Any other Guard or even PDF here? Wherever here is. I haven't got a clue what planet we're even on now. It's not Bastille or Seltura Seven, that's for damn sure. Was I wrong to lead the others through the gate? I mean, we're away from Butcher's Rock. This place don't even look half bad._ A jolt in my stomach reminded me of the stickies closing in on us.

"Careful," Davir said to me, raising a hand behind himself. "Getting pretty sheer down here. Watch your footing."

"I've got you, James. Keep going."

Dirt slid out from underneath my boot, the hobnails finding no purchase on the sloping ground. Tree roots grew outwards, granting us handholds in our slowing descent of the hillside. _Maybe they have lost us. Maybe we're free._

"Krest!"

A scrape of wool on dirt and Krest slithered down the slope, his hands scrabbling for purchase. Gathering speed, Krest grabbed at a tree but lost his grip, disappearing further down.

"Shit," Skargo said.

"I'm going." Bull let go of the ridge he was holding.

"Bull, don't you dare, you'll fall down there too." Davir, retaining one hand on a root, reached out for Bulaven with the other. "Please, Bull."

 _Throne, he never made a sound!_ I stared at the spot Krest had fallen from. "Maybe he's alright. Maybe he's climbing back up."

"He had enough sense not to shout out." Skargo turned his head before I could see his face cracking. "I can hear a river down in the valley. Confuse the stickies."

Turning my head constantly, I wobbled along the river; more a shallow stream really. Piles of loose stones broke apart under my feet. The black leather ankle boots and Guard-issue cotton socks I wore gave no protection against the chilly fingers of the water which found entry in every single crack in the leather, soaking my socks through.

"The sound masks our progress," Bulaven said.

"Yeah, but do the trees watch?" A Vardan replied.

"Uh?"

"Ancient forest spirits. You remember those tales on Vardan?"

"Renko, our trees could up and move. The conifers here don't quite make the cut."

"Your forests move?" I threw an odd look over my shoulder.

"Hm, yeah, James. We got fish that live in trees too."

I frowned, a muscle jimmying in my upper lip.

"Nah, we haven't got those, James. Just pulling your leg." Bulaven's mouth disappeared beneath his hairy chops. His eyes blinked and twinkled.

A flicker of a grin ghosted my face. "An' we got squirrels that live in the sky."

"Where?"

"Jumael Four. My home."

"Miss it?"

"Yeah."

"Green as this place?"

"So green I got sick of it."

"Sounds like a gem. Lucky boy, James."

Not even the dampness plaguing my feet soured my spirits. Once we clambered up on to the riverbank after a long stretch with wet feet, it was through a warmer, brighter patch of woods, where flowers grew, we trekked.

"Poor Chelkar and that. They probably think we got buried alive." Davir wiped sticky mud from his heel against a root.

"Hey, we stopped the lifers from using that xenos tech to run out on us." Skargo tasted a clump of berries he picked from a bush. "Mmm, getting one up on the officers beats anything."

"Pass 'em round." Bulaven sniffed at the purple berries. "Could be poisonous. Careful."

"Aw, no worse than when Zeebers tried gobbling roast Ork." Davir tittered, shovelling the berries down.

"Hmph, stomach cramps after these, I bet. Be shitting out berry juice tomorrow."

I swallowed the bitter, sour berries, crushed in to a mush between my teeth. "Picking pips out your teeth for the next week and a half." Bulaven laughed. After several helpings, I was feeling quite sick of berries and wiped my purple-stained hands on my trousers, leaving stains in the cotton. Armpits warm with sweat, I took off my parka and folded it over my arm. _How long ago was it that I was crawling through the mud, in fear of the Orks, and unable to walk? Throne, I could almost be back in Phase One, it's that peaceful out here. What ever happened to those stickies then?_

"Is that an earthquake?" I said, startling Davir.

"Earthquake – what?" Davir shoved a finger in his right ear and wiggled. "Scholar, you hear anything?"

"James, what do you hear?" Bulaven touched my shoulder. "Hold up, boys."

"Can't you 'ear it?" I shut my eyes and lifted a hand up to my face, uncurling my fingers. "A rumble."

"I mean, it's lost on me. You're probably not as deaf as us old sods, Larn."

"Yeah. Yeah, there's something." Skargo waved us onwards. "I think I know what it is."

"Pick it up, pick it up. Double-time, James." Bulaven chivvied me along.

"Wish I could hear good as you, scumbag." Davir worked his little finger in deeper. "Aw, that's a lot of gunk in there."

"Yeah. Boys, it's armour. There's tanks out here somewhere. Maybe tracks. I can't tell." Skargo began to jog. "Roads, dirt tracks, anything; just be on the lookout."

"Friendlies?"

"I dunno, the Crotch didn't issue me with a good pair of working lie detectors." Davir replied.

Once more assuming our heightened pace, we doubled through the thinning glades. Thicker shafts of light shone down to the floor. Blue sky was above us. A warm breeze drifted through the trees to greet the half-dozen strangers on this strange world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Platis V, Bhein Morr Subsector, 14:32**

Two broken lengths of cord dangled from Izuru's hands. The twin identity disks she gazed upon, detailed, among other pointless information, the human's insignificant name.

 _How?_ Saeros crouched near the river's edge next to Izuru, water brushing the toes of his boots.

 _He fell._ Izuru dropped the disks in to the water and left the body lying face-down. Launching herself up the slope in bounds, Izuru passed herself from branch to branch, springing up on to a rocky shelf and side-stepping along the lip. A breathless Saeros struggled after her.

 _What do your corsair eyes see?_ Izuru called to Derin.

The felarch, his long rifle pointed skywards, swept the faraway plain with a rangefinder. _The humans placed the river beneath their feet and struck westwards._

 _Their trail dried out on the riverbank._ Izuru took the monocular and glassed the plain. _Nothing. If we keep to the hillside, we may descend upon them._

 _Well then_. _Lead on, Nightspear._

 _Nightspear?_ Izuru frowned, pausing in her descent to turn back towards the felarch.

 _Was the Nightspear not an outcast of the Craftworld Alaitoc, my lady?_ Derin stepped down towards her, Saeros following.

 _Ilic Nightspear was friend and battle-companion to my father, Amonther Numerial._

 _Your father?_

 _Ilic is also the namesake of my son. My firstborn by but a few heartbeats._

 _And the other?_

Izuru vaulted over a dead bough, opening the gap between the felarch and herself. The persistent drumming of her heart set her rhythm. Always the river was further down the valley on her right, and the open fields ahead of her. Sure as the humans believed they had eluded their pursuers, Izuru knew it was only a tiny intermission in this act of her unfolding song. _Soon, worthless prey. Soon_.

 _The shadows lengthen_ , Derin spoke after a long spell of fruitless tracking.

 _The afternoon has yet to mature_ , _Felarch._

 _Would the princess really depart without us?_ Saeros, empty-handed, trailed the felarch and the ranger.

 _Her eminence will do as she pleases. It is not your place to question her, young corsair._

 _I would not be known as Nightspear please, Felarch. Rangers we both are, but I whither in his shadow and pale in the light of his glory._

 _I apologise, Lady Numerial. I have yet to observe a Pathfinder in action._

Izuru bit down on the inside of her cheek. _Then you have come for naught._ Once more, Izuru strayed ahead, opening her mind to the forest, letting the storm overrun her mental perimeter. _Where are you, whelp?_ Izuru summoned the image of the young human looking up at her, defying her, spitting at her. _How defiant will you be when I remove your fingernails one by one?_

A whisper of wind lifted up the edge of Izuru's hood. Freezing on the spot, she lowered herself to her knees, unslinging her long rifle. _There_. Faint human-sized shapes hoved through the trees in the far distance. Only through her rifle's optics did she make out the general shape of the humans. _See how the humans arrange themselves in single file._

 _I see._ Derin shouldered his long rifle. _Let us end their wayward flight_.

 _There is too much cover for the humans to disperse in. We must wait for the right moment. Once they are on the plains we shall strike in unison._

 _A simple charge from here would not suffice?_

 _That is not the ranger way, Felarch. The humans are unarmed. Yet together they can still pose a dire threat if we stray within their reach. Do not underestimate mob tactics and the desperation of cornered rats. I will have my kills clean._

Her pulse fluttering, Izuru stalked her quarry, keeping one eye on the humans, one on the path ahead. _Hold_. Izuru stopped. The human's movement ceased.

 _They've heard us._ Saeros slipped behind a tree.

 _Impossible_. Derin clasped Saeros's shoulder and pulled him out. _The humans are loud, clumsy, round-eared swine._

 _No, I hear_. Izuru raised a finger, closing her eyes. _I hear…_ She tossed her long rifle to Derin and lay prostrate. With her cheek gathering dirt, Izuru listened to the earth. _Tell me your secrets._

 _The humans turn north-west, my lady,_ Saeros chimed in.

 _Shackle your mind, Saeros. You intrude._ Derin shot a glare at him.

 _Be still, my heart_. Izuru sealed off the outside disturbances, easing her jumpy heartbeat. A faint rumble, like an earthquake, unsettled the ground beneath her. _Does war have yet another world in its iron grip?_ Izuru listened. _Artillery? No, it cannot be, for it is too constant; without pause or relent. What are you? No, you lie to me. Give me the truth!_ The corsairs, present though in body, were far-off insects, creeping across a void so wide and deep, they became lost in its vast depths. Still Izuru listened. _The industrial plague of the Imperium rears its bloated, swollen head, carrying itself on grinding, clanking tracks of the blackest steel. Corsairs, human armour approaches!_

 _Armour?_ Derin fumbled with his long rifle. _Tanks? Walkers?_

 _The disturbance is ever-present, as if a wave rolls up on us. No walker carries itself so. Steel tracks and armoured skirts guided by cruel hands make themselves known with the subtlety of the hammer on the anvil._ Izuru pushed herself up with one hand, taking her long rifle with the other. _After the humans._

 _Caution, Ranger, we invite greater danger upon ourselves, the further we stray from our people._

 _Your people, not mine, Felarch._ Izuru pulled herself up in to the lower, thicker branches and sailed through the trees.

 _We are not equipped to fight a war with the Imperium of Man. We are commerce raiders._ Derin took to the trees also.

 _Humbly spoken, for a pirate. I can think of three-and-a-half thousand reasons why you are wrong._

 _Our commanders would fight on their own terms. We pick our fights, that is the corsair way._

Through the treetops, the three hunters passed, leaping from branch to branch. Where Izuru gained a lead over the heavier-footed corsairs, she shimmied out along a branch and trained her sights on the humans. _Have they heard it yet?_

The crack of a dead branch preceded a rush of a body falling through boughs. _Saeros!_ Derin swung down from the branch he balanced on, thumping in to a pile leaves the youth lay partly submerged in.

 _The trees wither from here on_. Izuru flexed a nearby branch. _We are close to the forest's edge_.

 _Out with you_. Derin picked Saeros out from the leaves and brushed him down. _Body remains intact, young warrior?_ Saeros spat out leaves in response.

 _With haste, corsairs, the forest borders are near._ Izuru's boots touched the floor, propelling her onwards. From the thinning trees, strange shelves had been cut in the landscape, forming a giant set of steps leading down in to the valley, each one filled with water. _Irrigation?_ Izuru stuck her foot in to the closest pool, the muddy water rising to her ankles. _Khaine!_ Far below the terraces, another swell of forest stretched away, only then did the plains begin. _Observe. Beyond the trees, a roadway. The foe patrols._

 _A moment, my lady._ Derin set Saeros down. _Saeros sprained his ankle in the fall_.

 _Leave the youth. Observe with me._ Izuru tracked her rifle across the dense greenery.

 _The prey eludes us once more._ Derin surveyed the valley floor. _This venture will yield little profit for us. Come, let us all return to the princess._

 _And let the humans warn the nearest Imperial outpost of our whereabouts?_ Izuru pressed a finger against her ear. _Listen. Do you not hear what I hear?_

Planting his riflebutt in the ground, Derin's brow furrowed. _Yes, I hear as you hear, my lady. I advise you turn back. A half dozen ragged skeletons, spinning wild tales of murderous xenos in the hills will provoke laughter and derision from their fellow humans._

 _And the princess. Will it be the both of us lying to her face about how we split the tallies between us? Or will it be I that weaves the lies?_ Izuru glowered at the felarch, her mouth a tight line.

 _My lady._ Saeros shuffled up behind the pair. _I follow you_.

 _Settled_. Derin slapped his thigh. _You will bear arms, Saeros. Take this rifle._

 _Do not!_

 _Enough, Ranger. Saeros, I order you to take up arms._

 _Felarch._ Saeros bowed his head, taking the lengthy rifle.

Seething, Izuru vaulted down the terrace, kicking up water. _Damn you, pirate. I need only one long rifle to see this through. Isha be praised._ Reaching the base of the terrace in bounds, Izuru pelted through the damp undergrowth, dropping to one knee on the sight of far-off specks tearing across the open ground. _My, little humans, your speed is commendable_. Izuru counted six shapes. _All present._

"Hold!" Derin ploughed through the soft ground, showing a flat hand to her. "Take heed. The enemy armour approaches."

 _Where? And do not speak aloud._ Izuru snatched the rangefinder from Derin _. Atop the roadway?_

 _Aye, I caught sight of eight human vehicles. They will appear to us momentarily._

 _Irrelevant. The height of the roadway will prevent the humans hailing their allies. I say engage._ Izuru brought her long rifle to bear and wrapped the sling around her forearm, drawing it tight.

 _Beware, this may invite unwanted attention._ Derin growled.

 _Engage with me or begone._ Izuru drew her sights across a human, picking out his lower back. _A little shy of three-thousand yards. No trouble._

Izuru's finger curled through the curving guard, applying an ounce of pressure upon the firing stud. The prey were jumping up and down and waving at the armoured vehicles above them, rolling along without pause. Izuru's breath caught in her throat when a puff of black smoke burst out from the lead vehicle, a tracked carrier. The rolling thump of the shockwave came a second later. _By Asuryan…_ Izuru stared at the bright bubble of fire encompassing the carrier. Exploding from the inside, the carrier's turret leapt a hundred feet in to the sky. Identical strikes, one after the other, hammered the other vehicles in the column, cooking off their ammunition storage, turning them inside out, or just plain obliterating the boxy bodies, and whoever was inside. Seventy feet below the road, the humans were lying prone.

 _Tell me the princess did not just engage our foe!_ Izuru raged. _Felarch, tell me!_

Derin shook his head, spreading his hands wide. _It was the princess's will. Ask me not, for her eminence does not consult me upon her decisions first. Saeros, put that rifle down._

 _Take your blasted finger away from the trigger, whelp._ Izuru smacked Saeros on the ankle.

"Aah!" Saeros's rifle dropped. _I… I apologise, my lady_.

 _Next time, I strike you damaged ankle._

 _Torture him no longer, Ranger._ Derin brought his butt down in to the mud, hard. _I will not have it._

 _This – this show of force from the princess will not intimidate me. If she believes I can be cowed by her power, she is quite, quite wrong._

Weakened from the pummelling lance strikes, the chunky supports holding the road up collapsed, bringing the burning convoy down with it, and obscuring the humans in a wave of grey dust. Tumbling over one another like toys, the hunks of burning steel formed a pyre. _I hope the six humans find themselves entombed. Heat-vision._ A fuzzy grey filter occupied the transparent lenses of the long rifle's optics. Brighter flickers showed the heat from the derelicts underneath the demolished road. The tiny flecks upon the grass were the human's footprints leading up to the pyre, seemingly no further. _No bodies, no kills_.

"Onwards."

* * *

Dust brought upon tears, dribbling from my stinging eyes. Hands underneath my armpits hauled me away from the blistering heat, lugging my dumb carcass.

"Phew. You okay there, little fella?" Davir tilted my chin up and patted my cheek. "Ah, you're grand, son. Sit there for a sec. I'll be back."

Hair standing on end, I twisted to see Skargo, Bulaven and others dragging themselves over. "Bull!"

His beard a crisp white, Bulaven spat between his knees and staggered towards me. "This… now this I wasn't expecting. You okay, James?"

"Yeah." I dragged my sleeve underneath my wet nose. "I… I dunno."

"You look peaky. Maybe it's the climate?"

"Uhh…" I snorted. "Skargo?"

"My ears!" Davir banged a hand against his head. "What the hell was that, uh?"

My five companions gathered around me, blinking in the searing heat, sweat gathering upon their brows. "Alright, D and Renko, take Larn and get to a safe distance, case one of these tracks goes up. Bull and Vidmir, gimme a hand in this track."

"Bull!"

"Don't, it could blow!" Davir pulled at me. "God, I miss Bastille."

"They know what they signed up for, you didn't." Renko shouted. "Simmer down, big man."

Bulaven, Skargo, and Vidmir tumbled out of the rear hatch of a Chimera, bringing clouds of smoke with them. Skargo tripped, landing on top of a wooden carbine slung across his chest. "Ow!"

Bulaven and Vidmir picked Skargo up by his armpits and brought him with them. "Come on, come on!"

"PDF might have these if their budget was worse than ours." Vidmir shook an automatic rifle with a folding strut stock at me. "Certainly looks like it!"

"Yeah, them stickies and the rest of the neighbourhood heard all that for sure." Davir plucked a carbine from Bulaven and swiped the chamber open. "Won't be shooting my load off any time soon. I'm dry."

"Your jacket's on fire!" Vidmir beat at the back of Bulaven's jacket. "Roll, man, roll!"

A _whump_ from something exploding bowled me over, the shrill screams of the Vardans beating tattoos against my eardrums. "Get away. Get away." Skargo's urging voice prompted me to find my feet. Six coughing, spluttering ghosts stumbled out of the inferno. Bulaven's grating voice, I followed. "Wonder if a flaming Vardan wouldn't have worked to our advantage?" Bull slapped at the flicker of flame on his sleeve. "On me, James."

"Where's Skargo?" I screwed up my smarting eyes, rubbing at the tears on my cheeks. "Where's D?"

"S'alright, I'm here, Larn. I've got you." Skargo's steadying hand supported me. Once the air was devoid of any ticklish smoke, we flopped down, panting like hounds. "Ammo, take it." Bulaven passed out ten-round clips of steel-cased rifle cartridges. "D, Scholar, Vidmir, load up."

"Uhh, handy." Vidmir fiddled with the bolt of his rifle, locking it open and feeding the cartridges in. "Gimme two more clips."

"This thing is obsolete." Davir unfolded the bayonet attached to his carbine. "I hate bayonets too."

"Hey, we could have nothing at all," Renko said. "Blessed, ain't we?"

"Yur…" Davir shook his clip, shoving the rounds inside the magazine. "Is this bayonet stuck on?"

"You'll be obsolete in a minute when those stickies catch us." Vidmir cycled his bolt, the weapon giving a solid, comforting, _cha-chink_. "Feels good to have a piece to hand again. See how the stickies like hot Imperial lead."

"I want my Triplex back…"

"James." Bulaven passed me a bandolier. "Wear it."

"Where we humping to then, Scholar?" Renko pried the carbine out of Davir's hands. "It doesn't come off, ballbag."

"West." Skargo seated the bolt of his own carbine with the palm of his hand. "As far away from the stickies as possible. We stay off the roads too. Haven't got a clue what just rinsed those grunts back there."

"Have the stickies got sights on us?"

"On the ground or up in the sky, Larn?"

"Why didn't they waste us then?"

"I don't know, D." Skargo motioned us to move out. "Hurry, hurry."

Dark sweat stains spread under my armpits. The itchy warmth from the fires back at the collapsed highway stayed with me, smothering my body in a throttling blanket. _How many are coming? Are they still coming?_ I thought of asking for one of the three weapons. _Will that protect me at three or four-hundred yards though?_

With fear churning up my stomach, I trod after Skargo, taking peeks behind us at the heap of concrete and burning vehicles, imagining stickies advancing from the flames; cloaked and hooded ghosts. The highway itself overlooked a sprawling industrial facility. All towers, interconnected with one another, warehouses, railway tracks, overhead cranes and gantries. At a chain link fence on the corner of the compound, Skargo halted and cupped his hands. "Go on, Larn, up you go." He pushed my foot upwards, boosting me over the top of the wire. "Catch. Mind the blade." His carbine followed next. The marriage of steel and wood I caught in both hands, drawing it back in to my chest. "Oof."

"Coming over." Bulaven, once Vidmir, Renko, and Davir gave him aid, got his leg over the fence. "Shit, it's going." Underneath his weight, the fence collapsed inwards, sending Bulaven toppling inside the compound.

"Bull?" I set Skargo's carbine down, patting Bulaven on his shoulder. "Bull, you okay?"

"I will be if you stop poking me." Bulaven grunted. "Who built that, uh?"

"Bone-headed techpriest or summat." Vidmir tested the bent section of fence with his foot. "Bull, catch my piece."

Skargo, Vidmir, Davir, and Renko scaled the damaged fence without a hiccup. It left only the forced point of entry behind us. "C'mon, push." Skargo's voice grated in my ear. "Push it back up."

"Aw, you ever tried to bend steel with your hands, Scholar?" Davir spat. "It's not working."

"Leave it, just leave it. Can't be arsed." Renko broke away, kicking at the dust-swept tracks.

"Alright, we're done here, boys. Vidmir, cover our arse. Bull, on point with me."

Something about a deserted manufactorum disturbed me. Where there should have been the noise and bustle of an active plant hanging over the industrial landscape, only silence occupied the buildings and streets we wandered through. Patches of chill wind blew spirals of blackened paper fragments at us, the singed, burnt smell tickling my nose and making me sneeze. "Ssh." Davir shot me a look. Screwing up my face, I shuffled my feet, sticking my hands in my pockets. The others were poking here and there at anything that looked remotely useable. Scattered buckets, a single tap with a rubber hose attached. Even a water butt that received rain from containers on top of the warehouse. "Crap." Skargo dropped the lid back on the butt. An evil, black muck had congealed at the bottom. Solid kicks upon doors on either side of the street yielded nothing. Each was shut tight, with the only windows many stories above ground level. Leaning across the thirty-foot gap between the warehouses, a skeletal pylon sat, forming a makeshift bridge. Severed cables, manmade vines with deadly tips, hung down to the ground, the ends swaying. I eyed nearby pools of water, stepping around them and ducking under the cables.

Vidmir squatted in front of a puddle and stared down at his reflection. "Ain't seen you in a while, scumbag. Shave and a whore's bath for you." Vidmir's fingers swirled the rainwater. "What d'you think, Scho—" The passing shriek of a lasbeam cut Vidmir off. Cracks bombarding my ears, I tore away from the swinging cables, my insides liquified. Sharp, single shots punched through the air, scything between us. A crackly punch and a body toppled over, a single grunt escaping a Vardan's lips. Not a sound came from the others as, one by one, the searching shots found their mark. Smack after smack came from bodies slamming in to the ground, their legs carrying them on until they gave way. The panting Bulaven and Skargo beside me, I made towards a brick wall at the end of the passage; a dead end. "Up and over!" Bulaven threw his carbine aside, heedless of the zipping lasbeams igniting the air, and cupped his hands at knee-level.

Skargo lobbed his own weapon over the wall before imitating Bulaven. "Dammit, Larn!" Both men nearly launched me over the wall entirely. I caught myself in the waist upon the parapet and threw a leg over, turning around completely and dropping down with my back scraping the bricks. Heels sore and sweating, I scrabbled for Skargo's carbine and shifted a few paces to the right, crying, "Bull!" I found grip on the knob jutting out of the bolt carrier and jerked the steel back. A rusted cartridge flew out of the chamber. On the return, the bolt locked mid-battery. "Shit." I jammed my fingers into the magazine, pressing the rounds downwards. Thick fragments of smouldering brick burst outwards, inches from my left shoulder. Hot flecks spattering my arm, I fell to the side, my grip on the carbine slipping underneath the body. Slick hands jiggling the underside of the magazine, the latch popped, spilling the unfired rounds out at my feet. Engulfed in heat, I scooted forwards, my searching hand gathering a single cartridge from the stones and shunting it into the vacant chamber. With the magazine still flapping loose, I spun around and fired back through the tattered bricks. A torrid hail of fire pummelled the wall in retaliation for my pitiful token of defiance. Gasping, I dropped the carbine and fled, shaking my arms free of the parka, letting it go.

Stacks of clay pots I hared past shattered in to a thousand pieces. Boiling pieces of rubber popped, as the piles of tyres choking my path took the brunt of the lasbeams. Dust and dirt flew in my face zipping through the cracks in my eyelids. Not a single door in either warehouse gave way to my shoves and kicks. _Run, damn you!_ A broken pane of glass at ground level caught my eye. A cellar window, far too dirty to reveal what lay beyond, gave way to the toecap of my boot, allowing me to dive through. Announcing itself with a taste upon my tongue, the odour of a million crushed pieces of rotten, festering fruit invaded my senses, overwhelming them with the force of a four-tonne lorry to the face.

 _God-Emperor…_ On my hands and knees,I gaped at the carcass heap of green-skinned, eyeless corpses, whose grave I had just invaded. My limbs locking up, I peered around, glassy-eyed at the morbid scene. Laughing faces with wide, toothy grins, leered at me. Bony fingers reached out, inviting me to join their company. _What the…?_ Broken beams jutted out from the walls above me, as if every single floor had collapsed under a massive weight, leaving nothing but the barebones of the warehouse's interior left. Yawning holes in the roof cast cold, grey light upon the open grave. A shrill squeak from a rat, scuttling between my legs, set my pulse racing. My legs wavering, I picked my way through the tangle or arms, legs, and scurrying balls of fur, pressing my sleeve against my mouth. _God, they're so fat. How did they get so fat?_ I smothered a sniffle. "… Oh fuck." I nudged an arm out of my path. The papery skin around the wrist crumpled, underneath it brittle bones cracked and splintered in to little more than tiny fragments, severing the hand from the arm entirely. _Who did this? Why?_ Clutching my other hand to my belly, I teetered through the bodies, reaching a set of concrete steps that led out of the cellar. "Bloody…" I leant against the wall, my shoulder dragging across the bricks. "Oh…" My knees gave out. Bending over double, I threw up on the steps. An alien cry outside the walls drove me on. Wriggling through a cubbyhole, I bellied through a vent, tight enough to squeeze my shoulders. Bathed in dust, I didn't hear the groans of protest given by the crawlspace. A tortured creak and the vent tilted downwards. "Shit!" Disgorged from the vent, I slammed in to a mound of ballast, careering down the steep slope and rolling off. _The stickies!_ The crescendo of blood booming in my ears, I tottered upright, spinning around in circles. Dizzy, I ran in a skewed line in to an alleyway, the shadows rushing at me. The rough surfaces grating along my shoulders and sleeves, I broke free of the passageway, splashing through puddles. Beset with tunnel vision, I heard the blast of a horn, turned and stood on the spot, rendered impotent as four tonnes of lorry bore down on me. A giant, squealing fist hit me dead-on, knocking my body flat on its back. Landing in water, my head lolled upwards, the broken skyline of the factory blurring in to nothing.

* * *

 _Lost livestock, the humans stray without hound or shepherd to guide them._ Izuru tracked her sights across the six humans, all wandering carelessly about between the two buildings. _Saeros, gauge the range_.

Crouched next to Izuru, Saeros adjusted his grip on the long rifle. One eye was pressed to the optics, the other squeezed shut. _One-hundred and forty paces, my lady_.

 _Look again,_ Derin said, though he faced in the opposite direction. _Saeros?_

 _Two-two-five paces._ Izuru sighed to herself. _Kaela, this runt is work. Heed me, Saeros. Mark your target and await my command. You will initiate contact. Do you understand?_

 _Yes, my lady._ Saeros pressed his eye against the cushioned eyepiece. _I have a human in my sights._

Izuru took her forefinger from where it rested upon the rifle's curving body and hooked it around the firing stud. Her crosshairs centred upon a human. _Send it._ The long rifle's report split the air. Izuru's left ear twitched in irritation. _Kaela, you missed!_ Not a single human had fallen, the bark of the travelling beam sending them running pell-mell down the corridor they were trapped in. _Damn you, pirate._ Izuru seethed, sighting upon a fleeing back and dropping the first human she fired at. _Clean kill._ Not a single one of Saeros's shots hit their target, though none of the five humans even made a passing attempt to evade Izuru's shots. _Kaela, they make it too easy_.

 _What is happening?_ Derin, still covering the opposite direction, asked. _My lady?_

At the lightest touch, the long rifle sang its tune, finding its prey. _Three tallies,_ Izuru counted, eyeing the remaining three that reached a brick wall. The broad, bearded human who had disrespected her dropped his weapon, another human throwing his over the wall and building a stirrup for the third human, the whelp, to scale the bricks. Saeros's shot put the bearded human on the ground, just a moment too late to prevent the whelp from dropping behind the wall. _Ahh, curse him!_ Izuru shot the last of the prey still standing. _With me, corsairs!_ She charged at the bodies, slotting shot after shot through the bricks, blowing bright holes in the brick and cement. Izuru flew the 200 paces, placing insurance in each of the bodies she approached and kicking away the automatic that lay beside the first human she had killed. A sharp whizz-crack next to Izuru's ear dropped her to one knee. _He is shooting back at me!_ _Saeros, fire on the wall_. The long rifles drowned the single answering shot out in a flurry of heat and exploding brick. _Over, over!_ Izuru bent her knees and sprung off from the ground, catching the ledge and vaulting over to the other side. The soles of her boots scattered unfired slugs around. _Aah, the human flees unarmed_. Izuru nudged the wooden rifle over with her toe. The latch holding the steel magazine shut had opened, whether by accident or not, losing its contents. Just beyond it, a grey, fur-lined parka smouldered gently. The left sleeve bore many blackened holes.

 _You have your prey, let us return to the princess_. Derin approached behind Izuru, his lasblaster trained at the path the human had fled along. Saeros followed shortly after.

 _You!_ Izuru barrelled at Saeros, shoving him back against the wall and driving a hand in to his cheek. _You missed with intent!_ Izuru wrenched the long rifle from Saeros and passed it back to Derin, hitting him in the chest with the wide butt. _Had this pirate not hardened his heart against the enemy, I would have six tallies, not five._

 _Let it go, my lady. We have proof of the human's demise._ Derin lifted a corner of the parka with the tip of a wraithbone knife. _The princess need not know of this one's escape_.

Izuru pointed at the sky. _Do eyes not observe out every move? Or does she tire of this exercise?_

Derin shook his head. _I do not know. Pursue the human no further, I beg. Who would believe him?_

 _This will return to haunt me,_ Izuru thought to herself, hurrying after the human's trail. It led straight only a short way before veering left. _He entered this building through the window_. Izuru stooped, her hand wiping a thick layer of dirt from the broken panes. _Kaela, what manner of beast would smell so turgid?_

 _I smell it too._ Derin squatted at Izuru's shoulder.

 _The tang of dead prey._ Izuru pulled her hand back from the opening. _A sickness taints the air_.

 _Carry it back and the princess will liquidate you. I do not wish that for you_.

 _Nor I._ Saeros covered his nose, turning away and squinting. _Have enough humans been murdered today?_

Izuru came about and glared knives at Saeros, taking a step towards him. _We do not murder, we kill_. Derin moved between them, warning Saeros to retreat. _To murder is to take the life of one of our kin. A human is not murder. Do you understand me, corsair?_

 _Let us be away_. Derin motioned for Saeros to move off. _In peace please. I warn you, my lady, physical abuse against us will not be tolerated._

 _Brave words_. Izuru looked down at the lasblaster's muzzle pointing at her chest. _Bravely spoken from behind the muzzle of a pistol_. Snorting, Izuru swept past Derin, heading back the way they had come. Saeros scurried to keep up with her. _Walk at your felarch's heels, quivering-handed-one!_

The gap between ranger and corsairs widened to such an extent Izuru cast the issue of the corsairs from her mind, cleansing it of all trouble. It was well away from the deserted manufactorum when the rasp of approaching engines disturbed the peace and brought her back to the present.

 _Kind of the princess._ Derin raised a hand in greeting at a small personnel shuttle approaching. Performing a lazy turn, the shuttle touched down upon spindly legs, a short ramp extending from its hull. Armed corsairs jumped out and formed a perimeter around the vessel. Rather than Saarania or Ulthyr aboard, it was the white-haired Vliss who beckoned. _Hail, Felarch_. Izuru passed Vliss the long rifle and climbed past him. _You were successful, lady?_

 _Only in part._ Derin chivvied Saeros aboard. _A solitary human eluded us. His tall tales of evil-eyed xenos will invoke nothing but amusement, I assure you._

 _Ha!_ Vliss leered at Izuru. _The hunter is not without chinks in her armour._

Izuru bit hard upon the inside of her lower lip, sitting herself in a seat with narrow partitions on both sides. She leant forwards and rested her arms on her knees, linking her fingers together. Saeros hovered before taking a space opposite her. Izuru bore Saeros a stony look, willing the ice in her eyes to chill his heart. After a few moments spent looking elsewhere, Saeros found seating elsewhere. Corsairs filled the hard seats around Izuru, Vliss himself taking the space of the youth. Not a word passed his lips. His mind remained guarded. Only his eyes betrayed his insatiable curiosity, never leaving Izuru; sizing her up and down. The queer sensation turning her stomach over, Izuru turned inwards. _Nobody has ever escaped me before. Why did I not pursue further? Damn myself, damn the corsairs, and damn the whelp._

* * *

"I care not for this little brown speck of prey, Ranger. We are away from Platis," said Princess Saarania. "We are turning over new dirt." As she spoke, her corsairs hastened to take down the marquee and clear away the remains of their excess. A pink tinge occupied the sky. Izuru would have called it a fine evening, if not for the company.

"I have a new mission for you…" Saarania took an uneven step forwards. "Uly…" The bright-eyed Ulthyr, back on his feet, applied a sharp slap upon her rump, grinning. "Ulthyr, you forget our company."

"Your eminence." Ulthyr performed a mock bow and blundered away, a brimming goblet in one hand and a lasblaster in the other, shouting incoherently at anybody nearby.

"I have a new mission for you, Ranger." Saarania left the marquee, indicating Izuru to follow.

"At your beck and call now, am I?" Izuru frowned at her toes.

"If you so wish, quarters with my warriors can be arranged. Perhaps they might find a better use of you?"

Izuru took a look behind her at the sober bodyguards. "Afraid of speaking such a gutter-bred word aloud, Princess?"

Saarania's lips parted audibly. "For the uneducated, by my order, the ranger present shall be – from bows to stern, top deck to bottom – passed around the ship's company to use as they please. One by one, you will come to understand what it means to defy a princess. Then, once my warriors are satisfied, I will hand you to Dragut. You will beg me to kill you, half-caste. Thrown yourself at my feet, kiss them and plead for a merciful death, If the crew are appeased, I shall grant you the death you seek. If not…"

Izuru stared Saarania down, her voice lowering. "Then you will find yourself wanting. Rangers do not beg."

"Gang-rape or gather knowledge, Ranger. How can such a simple choice fly away from you? I tire of this stubborn streak of yours. I am the mistress. You are the servant."

"My children—"

"Are cared for." Saarania smiled, tucking her hands inside her sleeves. "Soon they will come to love me as their mother. Now, strike me. I know you wish it."

Both women faced one another. Two pairs of eyes, one pale gold, the other deep violet, locked, neither blinking, neither deviating. "So, your civilised side triumphs." Saarania showed her teeth. "Now, be a good girl and keep the barbarian within hidden. On the morrow." Izuru held her breath until her lungs were bursting, only letting it out once Saarania had embarked aboard the _Rhazus._

"Our commander has yet to make an idle threat." Derin spoke. "She is ruthless…"

Izuru turned her back on the felarch, shutting her ears to him. _I will see you imprisoned in eternal torment, serpent. May the Great Enemy feast forever on your soul._

* * *

 ** _The Gorynych,_ Night Cycle**

Faint traces of blood remained upon the tiny dents in the wall. Izuru clutched her hands underneath her armpits, sitting at right-angles to the door in her quarters. Red and swollen, her hands throbbed. Without creases, her bed was vacant. Staying awake long in to the small hours, Izuru kept her eyes and ears open. _Awaken. The enemy approaches! Do no locks exist on this ship?_ Izuru padded to the door, rolling her wrists. _One being. Why only one?_ Izuru readied herself, drawing back as the door opened.

" _Lady Numerial?_ " A voice whispered.

Izuru sprung, swinging a fist around and hitting the intruder in his windpipe, following up with a forearm strike across his temple, wrapping her arm around his neck and placing a hand against the back of his head. With the air sapped from his lungs, the intruder writhed in Izuru's hold. "Do not struggle. Do not struggle." Izuru pressed harder, slapping the door release and booting the back of the intruder's knee. His thrashings ceasing, the intruder relaxed. Izuru lowered him on to his back and placed a knee upon his neck. "Enough nightcalls!" Izuru spat, flecks of phlegm spattering the intruder's face. "Talk."

" _Ulthyr_."

"Come to have me, lech?" Izuru moved her knee away, grabbing at Ulthyr's ear and lifting his head up by it.

"Aaah, p-please…" Ulthyr's crumpled face rose from the floor. "I bear no malicious intentions, lady."

"You and every one of the Void Dragons, pirate!" Izuru twisted Ulthyr's ear.

"Your – your children are well kept, Lady Ranger."

"Where. Where?" Izuru let go of Ulthyr's ear and took a handful of his topknot.

"I cannot tell you."

Izuru balled her other hand and drove it underneath Ulthyr's groin. "Hoping to make use of it this night, pirate?"

A rush of colour turned Ulthyr's face purple. "She will do them no harm, I swear," he groaned.

"Every word you spoke I know already, pirate. Tell your child-snatcher mate I will do as she commands. Deliver her this from me as well: when it comes, she will not see it. Do you understand me?"

"I understand." Ulthyr whimpered, nodding. "I bring tidings. Tidings you would do well to heed."

"Recite not what the princess told you to tell me. It does not interest me." Izuru moved her face closer to Ulthyr.

"Grendel. Her eminence has chosen Grendel for our next destination. Insurrection rages in the system. Her eminence would bring the fleet to the Lysades Subsector. Surely rich pickings will be had upon the shipping there."

"A single subsector away from Port Maw invites trouble from the Imperial Navy. Are you not commerce raiders?" Izuru sneered. "How does this concern me?

"Her eminence will employ you as a reconnaissance operative and gatherer of knowledge on the planet's surface."

"Again, knowledge I am aware of. Were you aware of this ultimatum?"

"Ultimatum?"

"Saarania would watch as her crew takes me one at a time. How can you be wed to such a cruel creature?"

"I… I did not know. I did not know." Ulthyr's head shook. His voice wavered. "Such barbarism belongs only with the Druchii, the humans, or the Orks. I would stand in her path, were she to pass such a decree."

"Lies. Lies and deceit, snake. You are coiled around one another, serpent. Do not come to me with amiability, liar." Izuru picked Ulthyr up and propelled him from her quarters. "Get out of my sight, drunken lech."

"Bastard…" she muttered, once Ulthyr had slunk away. But immediately, her mind began to whirl. _Grendel, Lysades Subsector. What could lie there that interests the princess?_ Izuru's bed stayed cold for the rest of the cycle, her dead-eyed vigil remaining unbroken until a distant gong ushered in the morning cycle. Izuru heard a knock upon the door as she fitted her boots. "Enter." A clatter outside brought a frown to her face. "Come." A circular tray, bearing her breakfast, sat on the deck. Black robes flashed around the corner down the corridor. "Saeros!" Izuru strode after the corsair. "Saeros, I did not dismiss you!" Her voice rose, "come back," and fell just as quickly. Saeros skulked in a recess, hoping the shadows would conceal him. "Stand up straight when I address you." Saeros stood up, looking everywhere but at his mistress. About to lash out verbally again, Izuru caught her tongue and, instead, adopted a softer tone. "The platter you delivered. Bring it inside my quarters."

Saeros did as he was told, leaving the platter upon the folded bedcovers and retreating to the doorway. Showing Saeros her back, Izuru ate. _Such a peculiar predicament I find myself in. Alone and without allies._ She swallowed a date and looked across at the damaged wall. "Striking you was unprofessional. It will not happen again." Izuru broke bread and dipped it in the thick paste, sitting in a small circular dish. "Speak truth now. Did you miss the humans on purpose?"

"Whether I speak truly or falsely, it will not change me in your eyes, my lady. What's done is done."

"Please answer my question."

"I… I did not become a corsair of the Void Dragons to shoot unarmed youths in the back, my lady."

Izuru gestured with her hunk of bread. "Three of the humans carried firearms, marking them as a threat."

"The young human in grey ran for his life. They were all running for their lives, my lady."

"And the very same human you let slip away. This human then armed himself and returned fire on us with intent to kill. Does that not give you motive to end his little life?"

"They were panicking. Where they could have made a stand, all chose to run instead. Put yourself in their place, my lady."

"Compare me not with the prey." Izuru's hand tightened upon the platter in her lap. "Compare me _not_." The thud-thud staccato in her chest receding, Izuru spoke evenly once more. "You cannot answer for yourself, so I shall place my trust in you, pirate. Never betray me."

"Yes, Lady Numerial. I am your steward."

Izuru snapped a thin wafer with her thumb. " _Ever_."

* * *

Rough leather boots pressed against my sides. From beneath me, the floor jumped and jostled. Above, a thick bulk of a body applied its weight to my torso. The persistent growl of a motor engine shook the surface I lay against, jarring the sore mess that was my face. Short pops punctuated the noise, each one a blunt stab at my heart. "Ah, 'ello, he's awake." Steel toecaps prodded me up and down.

"Thought he'd come a cropper after going hand-to-hand with the lorry." Somebody laughed.

The man sitting atop me poked at the back of my head with a muzzle. "Ah-ah. Head down, my friend. Better for you not to move, eh?" The voice belonging to the man had a peculiar accent, fairly prominent, and quite alien to my ears. _Xenos?_ I thought for a wild moment. _Oh, please let it not be the stickies!_ Hearty curses were given when the lorry rolled over a particularly nasty rut. Through swollen lips, I moaned, receiving another poke from my captor. "Shush now. You'll upset the men."

On an on this went, an endless ordeal of pain, interspersed by the jab of the feet on either side of me. Rows of brown leather boots made up my world, the legs and bodies above them outside my field of view. _What the hell's going on outside?_ Thumps and bangs came more and more frequently, culminating in the lorry pulling to a halt, unseating my captor and bringing about another volley of curse-words from the passengers.

"Debus, debus!" A crash of a tailgate being flung open was followed by a hammering of boots.

"Grab the boy. Grab his legs and arms."

Brusque hands took hold of me. Wailing, I was thrown from the rear of the lorry, in to the arms of soldiers in smudged, faded khaki camouflage jackets and helmets with thick netting. Brown-skinned hands carried me over to a ditch at the side of the road. The ground rushed up to meet me as the soldiers plonked me down among them. Face up, I could see only the grey sky and the ducking and bobbing helmets belonging to the strangers. Dirt thrown skywards showered me, falling in to my mouth and eyes. My palms came down upon my ears as crisp bangs shook the ground beneath me, the pain worse than the incredible ache gripping my bruised body, so much so that I tried lifting my head off the ground. A hand forced it back down in to the yellow grass. A bulging backpack found residence upon my face, its owner hugging the bank. Slow-moving, fixed-wing aircraft roared overhead, their pale-grey underbellies nestling with bombs. Scrambling feet dug in to my sides. Hoarse shouts were given. A _pop-pop-pop_ of an automatic cannon jarred my teeth. Bright streaks flashed through the sky.

"Okay, mount up, move out!" A voice cried after the planes had cleared off. "Alla-see!" My impotent body received the same rough treatment on its transferral back inside the lorry. The four-tonner was part of a column of troop transports, each in the midst of receiving the same brown-skinned soldiers. Fields of yellow grass surrounded the dirt road, pockmarked with water-logged craters. In the far distance, yawning towers of black smoke rose to tickle the heavens. A continuous rumble of artillery rattled the glass panes in the lorry's cab and made the suspension creak. Dragged along the floor of the troop compartment, I yelped at the stampede of boots coming down on my arms and legs. "Shuddup, boy." A grunt kicked me in the side.

"Be silent, uh?" Another threw a haversack over me face, stifling my sobs. A jerk underneath and we were underway again.

"We're out of 'ere, boys."

"'Bout fucking time, I say."

"Ah, say foo-too." A _snick_ of lighter firing was followed by a flick of the lid shutting. "Mm."

 _Say what? What did he just say?_

Watery thuds came from artillery falling outside, heaps of earth spattering down upon the lorry's canvas roofs. "Shit, I lost it." A knee touched me. "Aha, the boy's got it."

"Ow!" A red-hot finger brushed the back of my neck.

"Nah, he's lost it." The same knee thrust against my head. "Little anus. Throw him out."

"Yeah, toss him!"

"Hold tongues, the lotta you. Rats and wolves, you're like animals!"

Subdued, the grunts continued their bickering and back-and-forth banter, now ignoring the olive grey speck of insignificance lying beneath them. _Throne, what the hell am I getting in to now?_

What seemed like hours later the lorry made a tight left turn, driving around in a shallow curve. Over the screech of the brakes, jet turbine engines howled.

"Okay, off-off, debus!" The tailgate lowered and grunts leapt out, their feet slapping upon steel decking. "Get the boy on a stretcher." Borne out of the lorry in the same splayed manner, I was lowered on to a foldout stretcher and lifted up by two brown-skinned, dark-eyed grunts. Nothing more than shouts was passable now. The coming and going of air traffic trumped even the _wham_ of the big guns, though the latter still made it their mission to punch my heart out with an invisible fist.

"Alley, alley!" One of the grunts carrying my stretcher squawked, his netted pot bouncing up and down upon his tiny head. Files of queuing grunts flew past me. The fat arse-end of a transport blocked out the sky. Two jabbering figures, one in dirty combats, the other in a one-piece flightsuit, blocked the grunts from boarding.

"No-no-no, my friend, wounded only—"

"Ah, this little rat gets a free pass, does he?" The grunt – an officer – shouted. "Hold there, Private. He's not even wounded."

"Okay, one moment." The crewman turned away from the white-faced officer and shook my shoulder. "Can you walk. Can he walk?"

"No." One of the stretcher-bearers replied.

"Not a chance," said the other.

"Well, where's he hit?"

"He's not."

"What?"

"He's not. He got hit by a lorry."

"What?!" The crewman leant forwards and the stretcher-bearer shouted in his ear.

"He got run over!"

"Get him on. Make sure you rejoin the line afterwards. I want to see you back out here."

"Okay. Alley!"

"Hey, he's not wounded. I've got a whole platoon waiting here."

My head tilted upwards. Looking down the slight slope at my feet, I saw the continuing argument between the crewman and the officer, whose hand was moving in the direction of the leather holster at his waist. Beyond the officer, two long lines of grunts queued up to board. Behind them and across the makeshift runway, bombed-out carcasses of hangars sat; now nothing but skeletons. Bulldozers and teams of men worked to clear corpses of aircraft, some still burning, some simple wrecks, off the landing zones. Other similar exchanges between grunts and aircrew were happening all over the rubbish-strewn airbase. Neat lines of grunts waited for ships to pick them up, in most cases they were simply standing around as if their destruction wasn't nigh. _God, it's worse than Butcher's Rock_ , my sole thought before the two grunts dumped me in the darkness and hurried back towards the circle of light.

Cool air brought the wet to my eyes. Around me, the breathing of other wounded cases tussled with the artificial cold pumped out by the ship's ventilation. Coughs and sneezes made echoes. _Am I safe? What do I do now?_ I stuck a trembling fist inside my mouth. "…God."

"Hello?" A grunt lying next to me turned his head in my direction. "You alright there?"

"I've… I've…" All notion of clear-headed speech deserted me. In rapid-fire sobs, I cried aloud, burying my screwed-up face in my sleeve.

A thin hand found mine, took it and held on. "I'm Arthur. They call me Art."

"J-J-James."

"We're safe here, James. We're all gonna be okay. I'm Art, remember?"

"Art." I swallowed, feeling the swollen lump welling in my throat. "I'm James."

"Got it good in the shoulder, so I did. Can't lift my arm up high enough to hold a rifle. Puts me out of the fight. Hang on there, pal. We're getting looked after now. Don't have to be looking out for ourselves anymore."

"I… I… I got hit…"

"Yeah, so did I, James."

"Got hit by a lorry."

"A lorry? Throne of Terra…"

"Felt exactly like what I thought getting hit by a lorry would feel like." I drew a sleeve across my eyes, working the cotton like a tissue. "Mmm, xenos… run."

"S'alright. Get some rest now, James." Art let go of my hand. "I'm right here for you. Won't be going nowhere. Promise."

The sobs subsiding, I tilted my head up to look at the closing hatch. "Are we…?"

"Oh, finally." Art flopped down on his stretcher. "Thank the Emperor, we've been here hours."

"Art?" The light cut out completely. "Where are you?"

"Right with you, James." Art reached out to me, taking my hand. "Got a family?"

"Mmm, yeah."

"Eh, so have I. Got something in common then, 'aven't we?" Art worked his stretcher closer to mine. "Hang on… there we go. You like football?"

"Uhh, parents don't like it. 'Aven't really had a proper kickaround for years."

"Aeolus Aces for me. Kinda like the Jaws too. Jaxos Jaws from Port Maw. They've got a good line-up going."

"I dunno, I didn't see much on the telescreens or the net. None o' that in my area." I worked our held hands in to a handshake. "James Larn."

"Art Drow." Art shook back. "You have any idea where we're going?"

"Nah, none."

Art sighed. "Me neither. I've – I've never been away from home before. I'm Nineteen."

"Eighteen. It's my first time too. I've… I've had a bit-bit of a time." My face contorted. I bit on the side of my fist. "Can I talk to you about it?"

"Course."

Over the growing roar of the transport's engines, I spilled everything to Art, withholding nothing. All the time he listened to me, captive, never losing interest or interrupting once. The long, convoluted, babbled tale I spun, did something I believed was an impossibility; it eased the deep ache inside me, granting me respite and a deep slumber without fear of the twin pin-pricks of gold creeping at me in the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Officio Medicae Transport, Lysades Subsector, Gothic Sector**

"Stickies," I rasped. "They called them stickies."

Twice I had awoken with my skin burning and my head throbbing. Lips, cheeks, nose, and brows; all felt sore and puffy. Awakening gave me reprieve from the yammering, cackling xenos and the pair of gold eyes, slits, glowing in the darkness.

"Why?"

"I dunno." I rested the back of my hand on my forehead. "Too hot…"

"Eldar, wasn't it? S'what it says in the Primer."

"I don't know, Art, do I?"

"S'posed to look like us, I thought. Got pointy ears, like."

"Dunno, I didn't look."

"I… thought their women were s'posed to be all pretty too."

"They had guns, Art. They were shooting at us." I let out a long sigh after keeping my breath held. "Aw, that's enough. I'm done crying." Two sticky rivers, long-dried and staining my cheeks, I wiped clean with my thumb.

"D'you want to kill them all?"

"Number one."

"What's this number one thing, then?"

"Number one, this is good. Number ten. This is bad," I droned. "I'm keeping my body the way the Crotch issued it to me. They can kill me but they can't eat me. Lifers bend over and we eat the shit flowing from their pink arses. They think they can blag the war and sit it out while we get wasted for the Emperor. Dying is grunt's business and business is booming."

"Heh, maybe skip on going hand-to-hand with four-tonners, pal." Art chortled.

"So, you gonna tell me where I am… was? 'Cause I 'aven't got a clue."

"Platis. Right shithole called Platis Five, somewhere in the western end of the Gothic Sector. Can't remember what subsector. Couldn't give a shit, honestly. You said you were on Bastille or somewhere?"

"Dunno where that was either. One in a million cock-up and I'm stranded on a warty slagheap of a world with my company blown away around me."

"TS. Tough shit, pal. Sorry about your mates and all but… you know people get hurt out here. It's bound to happen sooner or later."

"You're talking like me dad now, Art. A guardsman never returns, so he says." I scrunched up the hem of my jacket. "Reckon I'm gonna make it. I put my time in, so I did. I'm – I'm gonna move on. I'll try to move on. Not weak if I need a hand holding me up, is it?"

"Nah, no way. Number ten… uhh, number one." Art snapped his fingers. "I'll get the hang of it soon. Just hope we're going the same way as the Lairs."

"Lairs?"

"Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment. I'm a gunner. What unit you say you were again?"

"Jumael Fourteenth Volunteers. I'm a draftee that got drafted by a board of lifers who got drafted by the lifers that run the war for fun and profit."

"What's this lifer thing then?"

I dragged both hands down my face, pinching the bulbous, cherry-red tip of my nose between them. "Head's killing me. Um… lifers are in love with authority and abuse it to no end. Officers are lifers mostly. Lotta noncoms too, least the rear-echelon cogitator-commandos are. Uhh… they're just cunts generally. Don't give a shit about the grunts doing the dirty. You're not a lifer, are you? Or a rear-echelon toss-arse desk-driver?"

"I tell you, James, the Lairs haven't had a pom-pom to peddle 'round for the last four weeks. Four-gun battery, yeah? We had barrel ruptures, the trains severing, or just plain running out of ammo. We've been honorary grunts. I got my special parting gift from Rankor Legion scumbags. Now I'm here. Just hope the rest of the battery got off Platis okay. What a mess."

"Kinda like the officers didn't care, eh?"

"Oh, there weren't officers on the line."

"What was you doing on Platis anyway?"

"I dunno. We just go where we're told. Wars are run by sergeants; didn't you know that?"

"Oh yeah." I nodded. "Proper leaders. Just let the officers push their little toys round the map. We'll handle things in the combat zone."

"The bondo."

"Uh?"

"The bondo; slang for combat zone."

" _Hurgh_. Learn something new every day, I guess."

"Oi, speaking of doing the dirty. You got a girlfriend?"

"Nah, not me. No chance."

"Good thing that. I need a wingman when we swing off on leave."

"Hold on, I'm not in your regiment."

"Well, how 'bout becoming an honorary gunner then. What else are you gonna do?"

"Am I going to get a choice, 'ere?"

"Nah." Art snorted. "You signed that away when you filled that dotted line in."

"Didn't have a choice in that, either. Got drafted, remember?"

"Aw, just take the plunge. Them stickies aren't gonna come for you in the night now you're here."

 _Two women, both loathing one another. One with gold eyes, one with purple. They were arguing about what to do with us._

"Trust me, mate, I'd sooner hug Mister Green than try and get off with a stickie. Not that I'm for that anyway."

"Ha-ha." Art grinned toothily. "You did go hand-to-hand with one though, didn't ya? An Ork, I mean."

"He – he – he was chasing me round a pit, I'm…" I pressed a hand to my taught gut. "Thinking back on it… I don't like it. Let's not go there, uh?"

"Sorry." Art shifted his good arm behind his head. "Got some good blokes on the batt. They'll like you. James?"

"…Oh sorry, Art, I blacked out there."

"You've not got a concussion, have you?"

"Urgh, you tell me."

"They'll sort you out, pal. Don't worry." A dull clang beneath us shook the entirety of the ship. A second, louder gong had the deck vibrate beneath us. "Just us docking," Art muttered.

"Yeah, but where?"

"Long as it's not Platis…"

The wail of a klaxon split the silence in the hold. A thin strip of white light appeared near the ceiling as the boarding ramp disengaged. My eyes, accustomed to the pitch dark of the hold, protested. Shielding them, I blinked in the dazzling light, black spots swimming in my vision. A waft of dry air entered the muggy hold, bringing out the gooseflesh. "Still in space." Art too was covering his eyes.

"Why?"

"Dunno why. D'you know how much it costs to heat a ship?"

"Err…"

"Did you think space was hot?"

"Space is hot? Wouldn't know, I've never been off-world before."

"Oh, hello…" Art propped himself up on his elbow. Black silhouettes rose from the glare. Men in khaki uniforms and Medicae patches on their sleeves. "I'll say you're in Lairs. Play along, James." The medics, moving among us, began picking up the stretcher-bound and taking them down the ramp. "If they separate us, I'll kick up a stink. Don't you worry."

Working quietly, the stretcher-bearers bore the seriously injured out first. Those grunts with drips attached or swathed in bandages. It left Art and I among the last to be picked up. "Art?" I reached out for his hand as Art's stretcher was carried away. "He's my mate," I mumbled. When my turn came, I groaned at the flare of light beating down on me. "Art?"

"Oi, hold on, wait a minute. That's my pal there. We're on the same battery!" Art cried.

"Art?" For a moment, my eyes offered nothing then, focusing, I squinted up at the ugly strips bolted in to brackets up on the ceiling of a crowded hangar. Thick with fuel pipes, gantries, and loading docks packed with spacecraft, the hangar was host to mechanical techpriests and human ground crew, all going about their tasks. An odd taste prickled the tip of my tongue. The air itself tasted off; different from natural oxygen. Baffled in the noise, my ears picked up Art's voice. Art, in the process of being borne in a different direction to me, rocked his stretcher.

"Hey, bring me back over there to my pal." I lifted a limp finger and pointed at Art. "Hello?"

"Do we look like litter-bearers?" The stretcher-bearer behind me glared. "You will go where we take you."

"Art, they're taking me away!" I called, as loudly as my sapped lungs could muster. This commotion, as well as attracting the eyes and ears of the many other stretcher-bearers and crewman around, carried to the sharp ears of a medicae corporal, hidden from us in the shadow of a loading crane. Bulling through the gathering crowd, the corporal, dark brows over mean, squinty eyes, produced a notebook and waved it under Art's nose. I couldn't read what passed his lips, the crackle and screech of power tools made it impossible. Before long, a sergeant swooped down upon the corporal, soon sending him on his way with little more than a few words. With the medics around him silent, the sergeant bent over Art and said something, the thick line across his brow an unbroken plain of black hair; as rigid as the man wearing it.

"Bloody hell." I grinned at Art as his stretcher-bearers revised their course, bringing him alongside me. "What he say?"

"Any further disruption of my men's operation and I'll be referring you to your battery commander." Art's rosy cheeks puffed out. "Thought I was off on a trip to the commissar."

"Ain't you lucky?"

Bucked and bounced, I watched the smoky, sultry assemblage of the hangar pass me by. Priests clad in crimson robes wafted scented oils over disassembled engines, servitors, a mish-mash of man and machine, plodded around, their muscles bulging from the obscene quantities of tools and spares in their arms. Everybody worked. Not a single officer, spotless and squeaking about in leather boots, stood ready to oppress the hundreds of blue-collars – grunts – just going about their regular duties.

"Tastes funny, doesn't it?" Art said.

"Huh?" I put my chin on my breast and strained to see Art's stretcher ahead of me. "Whassat, the air?"

"Re-syke. We're taking in what these mugs are breathing out."

"Eurgh, enough o' that." I rolled my dry tongue. "So, I'm breathing lifer air?"

"No lifers here, just blokes that work for their living."

"Where…" A jab through the centre of my forehead canned all thoughts of lifers and the joys of re-syke. My cold fingers worked across my eyelids and up to my brow. "Art, I think I might need something."

"Alright, just hang on, James. It won't be long."

I saw nothing further of the ship with my hand over my face. Moments of clarity were interspersed with periods of blackness, where, a bodiless entity, I flitted from place to place, haunted by howling xenos with golden eyes and pointed ears. " _Go away_ ," I whispered.

"Impossible. Grunts don't leave their dead behind and they _never_ leave their wounded, James."

"Art, where are you?"

"In the one next to you. Over here." My sore neck swivelled. Art waved from the infirmary bed next to mine. "Spot of luck getting two together, eh?"

Crisp, white sheets brushed my chin. In place of my cotton OGs, I wore a grey robe. A dressing was tied around my head and a strap was fastened to my wrist. A wire trailed away from it, falling down to the floor, out of sight. "Where's my – where's my clobber?" I patted the sheets around me, tossing them back and raising myself up on elbows.

"Be around here somewhere, James. Oi, lie down, you've had a right run through the mill. Lie down before you pass out again."

"Aw, shit…" The pummelling inside my skull renewed.

"Yep, that's full-on concussion that is. Must've taken the four-tonner head on. You haven't got anything else broken."

"How d'you know?"

"Medics said so. They wondered what you head-butted whilst they were stripping you."

"Eurgh." I felt around my groin.

"It's all still there." Art laughed. "Nothing much to note, I'd say…"

I let my head sink back in to the pillow. "Fuck you, Art."

"What it's gonna take to put you out then. Another lorry to the chops?"

"Ha-bleeding-ha."

"Sleep it off, son."

"Art, tell me where we are, please?"

"Nemora. A destroyer. I heard someone say it earlier."

"Earlier? How long was I out, Art?"

"An hour or two, don't know. Sleep it off now. Nothing to worry about."

Art's voice fading away, I turned my head against the pillow and shut my eyes, willing an undisturbed slumber, free from that which prowled the shadows of my mind.

* * *

 **The Gorynych, Morning Cycle, Lysades Subsector**

 _One by one the prey dropped, each body collapsing gracefully, but always it was the puny whelp who evaded her grasp. So fragile, yet it was with a mocking ease that he danced out of Izuru's reach. Her hands found nothing but thin air, no matter how much she willed the whelp's neck to find itself within her grip. Why resist? It is futile!_

A tap-tap came from outside Izuru's door, bringing her out of the light doze she contented herself with. "Enter."

"My lady." Saeros entered and bowed. "Her eminence does demand your presence in the war chamber."

"Very well. Begone." Izuru waited for Saeros to depart before slipping out of bed and dressing. _What business would the so-called princess have with me at such an early hour?_ Izuru's breath floated in front of her as she drew her cloak over her shoulders. The turn of the cycle had yet to bring the warmth from the ship's heating to comfortable levels, such was the corsair's peculiar liking for raised temperatures. More often than not, an uncomfortable sweat broke out on her skin, where relief could only be found in the small hours when the ship's interior cooled, or under the cruel jets of scented water that gushed from grinning sculptures in the Gorynych's baths where, always alone, Izuru bore the impetus of the pirate's eyes; though all they ever did was stare.

On leaving her quarters, Izuru raised her hood, not bothering to pay Saeros a glance before taking off. "Well, youth, where is it you make your bed? Surely you do not wait hand and foot on me all hours."

"Two decks below, my lady. I am quartered with the machine-singers."

"A hand for mechanics, have you?"

"I… I mostly watch."

 _Clearly, I can garner nothing from you, pirate_. _If I seek intelligent conversation, I will look elsewhere._

At the pair of twisted, leering spectres, guarding the portal to the war chamber, two masked corsairs ushered Izuru across the threshold. Saeros was barred entry and remained behind. Arched, flowing Druchii architecture, deep blue and in places black, darkened the already dim chamber. Near the ceiling, holes akin to the spaces left by bursting bubbles observed the war table and the corsairs stood around it. Saarania, at the head, waited with Ulthyr and Derin. To the sides, the snow-haired corsair Vliss talked with the giant Dragut. Neither prince, princess, nor the two paid heed to Izuru's arrival. The sole stranger, standing alone, offered a small greeting to her, if only a brief nod. _Twisted cannibalisations of our psycho-plastic, sung by sharpened talons and cruel tongues._ Izuru's eyes passed across the wraithbone vaults criss-crossing the ceiling, her brows knitting closer together at the reprehensible creations of the Druchii.

Saarania flicked her wrist, launching a bubble of light at Izuru, who reached out and caught the object in her left hand without pause. "Does rising early disagree with you?" Saarania's tongue ran across her lower lip. "Shall we hold this meeting in your quarters perhaps?"

Ulthyr pawed at Saarania's arm. " _Can civility take precedence over early-morning barbs?_ " he whispered. Saarania's eyebrows jumped, one of them arching sharply. Flicking outwards from between her teeth, Saarania started.

"Your pardon, your eminence. Can introductions take precedence over Void Dragon affairs?" Izuru stopped beside the stranger. "Ranger," she said.

"Wayforger," the stranger replied, a faint smile appearing. Where the other corsairs possessed braids and topknots, the wayforger had opted for a simple headband to keep his hair out of the way.

 _Needless flair for a simple scout._

"Maess," the stranger added quietly.

"Maess," Saarania spoke louder, making a gesture with her arm. "My best scout and marksman, quite ready to place a challenge to your name, Ranger."

"Oh, no…" Maess glanced at Saarania. Her eyes flashed for a second before returning to their normal colour. It silenced Maess.

"Does that which inhabits your hand not interest you?"

Izuru released the orb from her clutch. Leaping up, to eye level, the orb expanded, becoming a tiny planet. Continents separated by oceans and divided by mountain ranges and deserts turned as the planet rotated on its axis. Paragraphs of information appeared beside the planet. At the head was the name: _Grendel_. Eleven thick segments, giving detail of the planet's population, distance from its star, Imperial classification, rotation and orbital period, diameter, climate; even the annual tithe Grendel was supposed to deliver to its Imperial masters, all of it Izuru read. It was only the recent events detailed in the final paragraph, more a footnote, that drew her attention.

"Take time to study the—"

"When do I leave?" Izuru's fist clenched around the planet and tossed it back to Saarania. Maess's lips twitched. Clasping his hands behind his back, he looked down at the deck.

"Study the planet in detail. Further information will be provided after your insertion." Saarania made to bowl the compacted planet back at Izuru.

Ulthyr's hand shot out and took her arm. "The mission, your eminence."

"Further information will be provided after their insertion, my prince." Saarania bit back. "Ranger, you will prepare for immediate departure. Your steward, the felarch, and the wayforger will accompany you."

"For what purpose?"

"Are you questioning her eminence?" Vliss's oily voice flowed from the darkness.

Dragut grunted and thumped his chest. "You die for that, whore."

"Observation or surgical strike, your eminence?" Maess voice rose over the snarl Izuru gave. "The wayforger would prepare accordingly."

"Observation. No direct action," Saarania said. "Unless authorised. The felarch has overall command and answers to me directly. That is all."

Dismissed, Izuru left the war room, picking up Saeros on the way out. "Greetings, Ranger," Maess said from behind. "Our commander speaks too highly of me. I assure you, I would not go so far as to compare my marksmanship to that of a ranger."

"Leave her, Wayforger. You will find no pleasantries," Derin said.

"My lady, where are we bound?" Saeros asked.

"To Grendel for reasons I cannot fathom." Izuru replied with a shake of her head.

"Did the princess not say?"

"She said nothing on the mission, let alone the civil war that has gripped the planet for the past two years."

"Civil war?"

"Brother-to-sister, husband-to-wife, parents-to-offspring. Ideological differences split households and place the humans at each other's throats."

"But-but humans are surely united under their god-emperor as one. Why does strife grip Grendel?"

"Saeros, not all humans follow their deity. Some wish for liberty, as to choose one's beliefs is prohibited in the Human Empire. Their church enforces it mercilessly."

"Are there other gods?"

"No. For them there is only the Emperor."

"But they must understand that their so-called Emperor cannot have lived for so long whilst enthroned."

"Such is the power their church wields. It is complete and total, Saeros. It is their way of enforcing law. Put the fear of imprisonment and torture in to society and your dominance is infinite. They believe the lies that are fed and ask for more."

"A society of drones."

"Yes. Constrained by religion, the humans stagnate."

"While we rise once more."

Izuru frowned. "Seek not to dominate as we once did. If you know your history, Saeros, you will understand the consequences of unbridled power. Tell me, how often do employ your mind as a weapon?"

"As little as I can, my lady."

 _Very good._ "I let my long rifle speak for me. My knife express my opinions. My hands pass judgement. Do you know why?"

"I do not, my lady."

"Though each of our minds possesses the strength to break bodies and subjugate wills, it was our doing so, our committing the sin of sloth, that invoked the downfall of our empire. In our gluttony, lust and greed we forgot all. And in one deafening scream, we sealed our fate. Let our strength not fail us a second time."

"But why do you abstain, my lady?"

"Discipline, Saeros. Discipline and patience. It is all very well employing your mind to perform all for you, but you find your arms and legs weaken slowly. You grow soft and slack when so dependant on your mind you are. Though our race has always maintained their psyker's connection, to neglect the body in favour of the mind conjures up an image of such laziness that letting the body loosen… well it is just unthinkable. Do you not find the physical effort more rewarding?"

"I…" Saeros left the syllable hanging.

Izuru peered back over shoulder at Derin and Maess. Both had theirs heads together, with neither paying attention to her. "I can provide a regime, ranger-style, for you to adhere to. Would this corsair accept this ranger's tutelage?" Izuru offered Saeros her hand. "Well?"

Like water in a sinkhole, the colour in Saeros's face drained. Wet, blinking eyes looked down at the proffered hand. The words left him. All he gave in return was a limp hand that reached out and took Izuru's forearm.

Tightening, Izuru's fingers shook Saeros's arm. "Shake free of the petty raider's shroud and embrace a warrior's ways. Now come, let us prepare for Grendel."

 _Nine minutes earlier…_

The crawlspaces and tight network of passages hidden above the war chamber and criss-crossing the entire ship played host to not only echoes but to two very small beings listening in to the adults. " _Mother!_ " Korsarro Numerial gasped. " _Ilic, mother_."

"Be careful, brother." Ilic gathered a bunch of his brother's robes in his hand to stop him from tumbling out of the opening and down to the floor below. "The big one is down there with them."

"White-head scares me more than the beast."

"Hush, I cannot hear what they say." Both boys listened. Korsarro clutched at Ilic when their mother received the balled-up planet. "She wants mother to go away."

"Why?"

"So mother cannot find us and take us home."

"Mmm, I don't want them to hurt mother."

"Mother is too clever. The princess would not hurt her unless mother is no longer useful to her."

"Mother." Ilic reached out towards his mother. Her raised voice was cut off by a corsair addressing the princess. Both the beast and white-head had provoked her in nasty voices. "What is whore. Why do they call her that?"

"Ssh, come away, brother." Korsarro drew Ilic in to a hug and stared over Ilic's shoulder at his mother departing the chamber with corsairs. _The nasty corsairs are not joining mother. Thank the Phoenix King._ Korsarro smiled. "Quick now. Hurry back to our room before the evil princess finds out." Together the twins scooted up through the black branches, diving inside the hollow strands. Squeezing their thin bodies, the network granted them the caged freedom of the _Gorynych's_ secret passages, where only they could venture. "Does she know?" Ilic had once wondered aloud whilst the two were alone.

"She knows. The princess is not a fool."

"Then why let us roam free?"

"How would she stop us?"

"Shackle us, like she shackled mother."

"But she does not want us as prisoners. She wants children of her own."

"So why can't she make children?" The boys were stumped at that. "How does one make children?"

The pacing of the guards circuiting the corridors outside the princess's quarters brought Korsarro and Ilic to a halt. " _Wait_." Korsarro counted the seconds in his head. By now he knew the number, route and positioning of all the guards near to the princess's quarters. _If only we could let mother know._ Not a single branch of the tunnels led inside, giving Ilic and Korsarro only one way in and out.

" _They are changing over_ ," Korsarro muttered. " _With me, Ilic_." The twins wriggled out of the floor-level tunnel and skipped across the polished floor to the sealed portal. _Thank you, mother_. Korsarro's fingers found the tiny panel in the wall and opened it with a fingernail, exposing the fibre-thin, hair-like strands. Ilic, his eyes peering around the corner, watched for the return of the guards.

" _Yes!_ " Korsarro stifled a squeak. "Come, brother."

The twins shot through the princess's solar and back to their own room. Ilic kicked away a tome when he passed it, scattering scrolls across the floor, mixing in with the toys given to them by the princess. "A curse upon her for trying to turn us against mother. Mother will punish the wicked princess for this." Once safely back in their beds, Korsarro turned to Ilic. "Mother will return for us. She _will_ come back and take us home."

"But what if she does not?"

"Then we will go to her. I vow to escape this cage and seek out our mother."

"Together." Ilic stretched out his arm and took his brother's hand. "Together again."

* * *

 **Officio Medicae Transport _Nemora_ – two weeks later**

"…past conflicts have been marked by bloody clashes between pro-Imperial and secess… secessionist paramilitary factions," Art read, his eyes narrowing.

"Aww, give it a rest, Art." I yanked the pillow out from under my head and squashed it against my face.

"S'important bumpf this." Art waved the booklet on the planet Grendel at me. "How else we gonna pass the time."

"I've had two weeks of this," I groaned.

"Yeah, your face don't look like a plum no more. Maybe you won't scare all the lumpy-jumpers off." Art shoved back his chair and tossed the booklet in my lap. "Tell you what, I'll go find a wheelchair and cart you round. See what the lads make of you."

None of the doctors made comment on the gunner driving a wheelchair through the infirmary. All were too busy with the other casualties that had made it off Platis. Some bore thick castes on arms or legs, sometimes both. Others were bound head-to-foot with dressings, with only pin-prick holes to let them breathe. Directly above me, panels of lights glared down on to my bed. At times, dirty servo-skulls bobbed up and down the aisle, periodically scanning the conditions of the convalescents. I learned to ignore the beady eyes and the irritating whine each one made.

"What's a lumpy-jumper?" I asked once Art returned with the wheelchair and pushed it between the beds, near enough for me to climb in.

"Oh, WGs, women guardsmen. Well, I s'pose it can be from any branch really. Doesn't matter." Art backed out of the gap between the beds and steered me towards the exit. "See, I like a bint in uniform." Art's voice lowered. "I swear they choose the tightest clobber. Showing it all off, see." Art turned in the direction of a female surgeon reseating an IV drip. "Heh-heh, see what she thinks of your mug."

"Art!" I jiggled the wheelchair. "Don't."

"If she don't scarper then you're right thereabouts." Art laughed.

"I can walk y'know. I'll bloody stand and dosh you out."

"Perfect." Art swerved away from the woman, who still had her back to us.

"Art, I swear…"

"Oh, they're gonna love you."

Art made a left out of the infirmary. "Course 'cause the nice thing is, I'm not gonna be stopped by any sod with stripes. I'm just another stretcher case taking his mate for a sightsee."

Not a single curve or rounded surface could be seen in Nemora's corridors and accessways. Nothing adorned the blocky, unrefined surfaces. Everything was stark and utilitarian, provided at the expense of comfort. "Bit grim this, innit?" I rubbed at my forearms. "Could turn the heating up at bit too."

"Ehh, cheap swine these boaters. Budget's worse than ours prob'ly." Art tittered. "Dunno how they're gonna pay for our lost guns. Might be on a permanent grunt detail on Grendel."

"I haven't got a clue how to work a pom-pom."

"Good, you'll fit right in then. Sing dumb and no one will know you ain't in Lairs." Art jostled the wheelchair, pivoting it to avoid running down an officer who had just stepped out of a lift in front of us. "S'cuse me, sir, it's got a mind of its own."

"I beg your pardon, Guardsman." A lean, dark woman in the stone-grey tunic of the Imperial Navy side-stepped in front of me. "Stand at attention. Are you authorised to exercise this man?"

"Erm…" Art's boots leapt together. I adopted an altogether lax posture, my eyes falling away to a point in the bulkhead at roughly thigh level. To seal the ruse, I let my jaw hang slack. "He's my mate, ma'am. I was going to introduce him to the rest of my battery. He's a replacement, see."

"Gunner?"

"Gunner Drow, ma'am."

"And you?" the Navy officer looked down at me. In the corner of my eye, the pair of brown eyes underneath the leather sweatband of the officer's beret poked holes in my thin façade. "Commander." The officer backed away from me, becoming interested in the newcomer behind me.

"Uh-oh." Art manoeuvred me to the side of the corridor. I had a split-second's glance at another officer, this one with golden epaulettes on his shoulders and in the company of two armsmen, before Art turned me away. "Let's go."

"Belay that, Guardsman. The lieutenant did not dismiss you," said the commander. "Hello, lieutenant. These lowlifes giving you trouble?"

"If attempted assault with a seated convalescent counts as trouble, sir…" The lieutenant saluted.

The commander chuckled and returned the salute. "I say, what is the seated guardsman's problem? I will not have mentally-deranged lunatics carted freely about my ship. Tell him to get his chin up. He's a soldier of the Emperor. Be proud!"

"I haven't quite worked out his issue, sir. I'm sure it was a simple concussion. He will come 'round." The lieutenant dug in to a bulging breast pocket and produced a cigar. "Are you on duty, Commander?"

"Just a moment." The commander rounded on Art. "Name."

"Um, I'm Gunner Drow, sir. This is Gunner Larn. He's a new replacement for B Battery, sir. Was supposed to join us on Platis, sir. Poor lad got hit by a lorry. He's a bit knocked about still, sir."

"Well, see this man is fit for duty as soon possible, Gunner. No thank you, Lieutenant, I am on duty still. Perhaps at noon. Good day to you."

" _Twat_." Art murmured at the commander's back. " _Certified lifer_."

"What was that, Gunner?" The lieutenant loomed over him once more. "I caught the tail end as I was heading off."

"Nothing, Lieutenant Pripinec." Art grinned. "We'll get out your way now."

"Do I know you, Gunner?" Lieutenant Pripinec moved in front of me again.

"Well you don't so much know us, ma'am…"

"Hmm." Pripinec leant towards me. "It is a good act. You do it very well, young man."

I set my head straight and looked the officer in the eye. "What if it weren't an act, ma'am?"

Pripinec smiled. "I might have to take your name then. Did I hear it just now?"

"Can't remember. Got my head smashed in by a lorry, ma'am."

"Uhh, sorry for wastin' your time, ma'am." Art pulled me backwards. "I'll be more careful."

"Yes, of course you will, Gunner Drow. Lairs?"

"…Yes, ma'am. Battery B."

"Well, what a coincidence. I don't remember Lairs receiving any replacements at all on Platis."

 _How does she know that?_ Behind me, Art's hand tightened on the wheelchair's grips. "Not my area ma'am. I'm just a grunt."

Pripinec's voice softened. "There'll be no need to investigate this, will there, young man?"

"No, ma'am."

"Not you. You."

I shook my head. "Sometimes it's best to leave it right alone, ma'am. D'you feel safer like that?"

Pripinec swooped down, her hands upon her hips. "You've a cheek. Who is your commanding officer?"

"Don't rightly know, ma'am. I'm in limbo."

"Shall we resume this conversation when we reach Grendel?"

"I'd prefer not, ma'am."

Pripinec glanced at Art. "You owe me a favour now, young man. I won't run you in, so you two owe me."

 _What favour. What's she on about?_

"Off you go." Pripinec winked as Art wheeled me away.

 _She knows!_ I squirmed in the seat. "Art, she knows I'm a deserter."

"You're not a deserter. What sort of talk is that?"

"I'm missing in action. Nobody knows 'cause nobody's bothered to check on one little rifle company. What happens now that I turn up alive and kicking? They'll mark me as a deserter and hang me."

"No-one's gonna care, James. Why not just start afresh? I mean this has gotta be far better than sleeping in a mud hole or going hand-to-hand with Orks. You've got a lucky star hanging over you. Just live with it." Art ruffled the back of my head. "Chin up. Let's go find the lads."

"Did you really know that officer?"

"Aha! Little trick we liked to play on her back at the old base on Platis."

"What was that?"

"Nah, important question is: can we do it again on Grendel?"

 _No idea what you're on about, mate. But I'm damn sure it's not good-humoured._

Makeshift billets for the battered grunts recovered from Platis comprised of nothing more than bunks, stacked three on top of each other, in holds normally reserved for shipping crates. _It's them again._ The brown-skinned grunts in the same green, brown, and khaki jackets sat in their own corner of the hold. _Why are they wearing their berets the wrong way round?_ "Joparr Drop-troops," Art said.

"Huh?"

"Paratroopers."

"Got their covers on wrong."

"Hooh, better not let 'em hear you say that, James. It's just their tradition. If I cared, I'd be just as stumped as you. We leave 'em alone. Our lot's over here." Curious eyes peered out from racks as we passed. _Why am I still in this chair? I can walk fine._ I fidgeted.

"Whack up a nice cuppa tea, lads. Got a visitor," Art announced to a tight-knit gang of five grunts, spread out over two bunks, each the lowest in their rack. Two of the five were of a dark complexion and the rest were pale, albeit rosy-cheeked. Not one wore the same article of clothing. A mixture of olive-grey, khaki, stone-grey and camouflaged items were hanging on crude washing lines fixed between the bunks. Sleeves bore patches of a motley assortment of units. The covers too didn't appear to conform to any sort of uniformity. There were berets, each one a different colour, crap-caps, bonnets, side-caps, and head-scarves. This was to say nothing of the grunts themselves. All were long due a shave and a haircut. Cigarettes, if not in mouths, were stuffed behind ears. Money littered a stakes game being played out on the deck. Sweat ran down from unwashed hair. Tattoos reared on bare arms bulging with muscles.

"Wenrok." Art tapped the nearest grunt, lying on his bunk. "'Ello, old friend."

Wenrok rolled the magazine he was engrossed in and jabbed back at Art. "Old friend!" he scoffed.

"Wenrok's our lance bombardier; gun layer, line." Art then pointed out the three squatting over the money. "Samuel, gun layer, elevation. Kerris, loader and firer. Wyrig, ammo supply." None of the four registered any interest in me. The last man Art introduced stood up from his bunk and moved through the middle of the game, heedless of the gunner's objections. "Wouldn't forget about you, Bombardier, now would I?" Art laughed. "James, this is the deputy to our number one, St—"

"Stazak." A shaven-headed grunt tipped his wonky nose downwards, the sweat following until it dripped from the tip. "I can't tell what it is I'm even looking at. Drow, why've you brought us a runt?"

"'Ave a heart, Stazak, he's just come from Platis, like us."

Stazak was joined by Wenrok and, shortly after, Samuel, Kerris, and Wyrig. "Take his wheels, lads," Stazak said. "Let's see him crawl his way out of here."

I kicked the wheelchair back and jumped up, tearing off the bandage from my head. "Oof!" Art received the rogue wheelchair and stumbled back.

"Oh, oh, oh, lookit this." Samuel leered. "Feeling better now, you little rat?"

"Dangle him upside down by his ankles!" Wyrig spat.

"Alright, back in your cages." Stazak seized the back of their necks and shoved them away. "Kerris, count me in next round. Drow, you want to explain what I'm seeing?"

"Wh—I was hoping the sarn't would be 'round to get him settled, Bomb," Art stammered.

"Who's him and why's he settling here?" Stazak planted a boot on the edge of the wheelchair, steadying it. "Drow?"

"I'm – I'm gonna go speak to the sarn't."

"He's whooping it up with the other noncoms. I've gotta nursemaid you horny grunts. _Who_ is that?"

"James Larn." I moved out of the shadows towards Stazak. "I'm gonna be joining your battery. Look at me please, Bombardier."

"You cheeky bastard. You're not joining anything till the sarn't has his word. How fucking dare you," Stazak said, never once raising his voice. "How 'bout I put you back in that wheelchair?"

"Orks tried putting me in a wheelchair once, Bombardier. I got better." I met Stazak's eye. "You ever been hand-to-hand with Mister Green?"

Wenrok guffawed. "He's got some liquid shit dribbling out of his mouth, this one!"

"That ain't no shit," Art said. "James got zipped in the back by an Ork shoota. He's got a scar and everything."

"Bollocks, he's had two weeks to fill your headgear with little lies, Drow." Wyrig balled up a sweat-stained, stinking sock and hurled it at me. Ignoring the sock patting against my chest, I turned my back on the gunners and pulled the medical robe up, baring my buttocks, lower back, and the scar.

"Aw, put it away, ye pimply little prick!" Wyrig growled.

"You wanna smack there?" Samuel snapped. "You're sure asking for one."

"Shuddup, Samuel. And you, Wyrig." Stazak's voice turned cold. "How long, Larn?"

"Bombardier?"

"How long were you out of action for?"

"'Bout a month, Bombardier. Couldn't feel my legs."

"He crawled hundreds of yards out of no-man's land, Bombardier. If that's not double-hard, I dunno what is," Art said.

" _Pah_." Kerris shook his head. "You joining us this round or what, Bomb?"

"Ehh, shove over, Sam." Wyrig poked at Samuel with his toe.

Drow leant between the iron bars of the bunk Wenrok lay on. "Oi, Buns is aboard."

"Buns?" Wenrok dropped his magazine.

"Shit." The game froze.

"Larn got a wink out of her."

"Naw bollocks to that." Wenrok grunted.

"Why?" Stazak, perched on the bunk opposite Wenrok, edged forwards.

"The commander – _the_ commander – came trotting by looking for grunts to shaft. James is in a wheelchair so he's sitting…" Art's head lolled to one side. "Like this." He let his tongue poke out of his mouth. "Acting all corrupted, like he's a heretic or some shit."

"The Crotch issued you a working tongue, didn't they?" Stazak said to me.

"He bought it, she didn't." I shrugged, still standing in the aisle between bunks.

"Thought she was gonna run us both in, honestly." Art piped up, patting a thin patch of unoccupied bunk for me to sit on next to him. "Must have found it funny-like."

"Buns?" I strained to remember the officer's face, and how she wore her hair underneath her cap "Why Buns?"

"Art giggled. "Nothin' to do with her hair, mate."

"Damn-straight." Kerris mimed a fist pumping horizontally. "Any time, any place."

"Didn't think she had a thing for young meat," Wenrok muttered. "Well I'd fuck him, that's for sure."

"Wenrok, play nice." Stazak shot Wenrok a look. "You want to avoid another session in the latrines, don't you?" Wenrok murmured darkly and hid himself behind his magazine.

"Stazak keeps these thugs on the straight-and-narrow, James. They're harmless, long as they've got something to do. Here." Art passed me the lit cigarette Stazak had given him. "Rolling anything, Bomb?"

"Not on this tub, Drow. You bet your hairy arse the stick-man's gonna be coming down on you like a tonne of bricks if he catches the tiniest whiff of smack in the hold."

"Yeah but did the stick-man get off Platis?"

"Course he did, all the officers did. Officers look out for number one. And look, all you sods lazing about… don't you get too used to it 'cause the minute we reach Grendel we're back to square-bashing and button-polishing. No more of this squatting."

"Why we heading to Grendel anyway?" I nudged Art. "Something about a civil war you mentioned?"

"Lemme ask the general, I'm sure he'll be happy to fill us in." Art snorted. "We weren't even sure what we was doing on Platis, James. How 'bout you on Bastille?"

"Nah. Didn't 'ave a clue. Just trying to make it through the day." I shook my head. My numb toes brushed trails of dirt along the deck. Making fists, I wiggled them. _A right warm crowd I've fallen in with now. What would you do if you were here, Bull?_ I dangled my feet, taking drag after drag of Art's cigarette. Chits and money changed hands in the bucket-load and too frequently for me to follow. "Are they just passin' money back and forth. What's the rules?"

"Honestly, I dunno. The wampum's flying 'round too quick. Oi, where d'you grab so much of this, Wiry?"

"CQMS."

"Oh, that explains it. Thought you'd robbed a bank."

"Yeah, we—"

A stentorian voice cut the dividing proceeds in half. "Look lively!"

"Oi, officer incoming. Sarn't's with him." Stazak hissed. "On your feet!" A hushed silence took over the hold, punctuated by the sharp snap of bedsprings and the slap of bare feet and boots upon the deck. Two officers, one wearing stripes, the other with pips on his shoulders moved along the aisle two rows down from us. Both wore crisp OG fatigues, buffed leather boots, and short woollen puttees, their uniform a near mirror of my own. Their heads were obscured by the bunks.

"Shit, Sarn't's taking a rupert 'round the batteries for a meet-and-greet," Art prodded the nearest pile of cash. "Let's get rid o' the wampum before he sees it."

"Act like it's nothing," Stazak said out of the corner of his mouth. "You move and I'll bring the sarn't over. Larn, get out of that wheelchair. There's nothing wrong with you." At attention, I waited with the rest of the gunners for the battery sergeant to bring the new officer around.

"Hello there. I'm Lieutenant Ahern, your new battery commander. Which one of you men is Sergeant Reimer's deputy?" The lieutenant's clipped tones rankled me.

Behind him, the sergeant spoke. "That'll be Bombardier Stazak, sir, the NCO standing on the immediate right of Gunner Drow."

"And who is Gunner Drow?"

"The other rank to the right of the man in the medical robe whose name I do not know, sir."

"Good morning, Bombardier, and you men. Um, Sergeant, how many men are on your battery?"

"Seven, sir, including their sergeant. Bombardier Stazak, Lance Bombardier Wenrok, Gunners Samuel, Kerris, Wyrig, and Drow."

Lieutenant Ahern's eyes fell on me. "Alright, Guardsman, you know my name. Tell me yours." Sergeant Reimer muttered something inaudible to the officer, causing him to change his mind. "If you'd follow me, Guardsman."

" _Luck, James_." Art touched my arm.

"With the lieutenant now, Guardsman." The sergeant stepped to one side and followed at my heels out of the stifling hold. Head hung, I quailed under the combined stares of the NCO and battery commander once out in the cooler companionway.

"The lieutenant did not permit you to stand easy, Guardsman."

 _This is ridiculous._ My legs met one another. Glued to the iron deck, the feeling was fast draining from my feet.

"At ease," Ahern said. My hands disappeared behind my back; my right hand gripping my left wrist. "Name, rank, and number."

"Err, J-James Larn. Arvin James Larn," I stuttered, my face flushing. "Erm… private. Eight one five seven six eight two zero… sir."

"Are you Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment?"

"No, sir. I – I met Gunner Drow on Platis…"

"Your regiment?"

"Um, Jumael Fourteenth Volunteers, sir."

"Sergeant?"

"No regiment I've ever heard of, sir."

"Take his number, Sergeant."

"Sir." Reimer scribbled my name and number on a notepad. "Noted."

"For now, stay in the infirmary, Private. Somebody will be along to collect you."

"Yes, sir." My shoulders sank.

"Attention."

"Stand easy." Ahern turned on his heel and trotted up the stairs, the clatter of the sergeant's boots in tow. Long after the clack of rubberised soles on iron had faded, I stood still, listening. _Now what's going to happen to me?_ I leant my head against the rough bulkhead and closed my eyes.

* * *

"A bad liar, sir. I've no doubt about that. Mind the step there."

"Hypothetical, Sergeant?" Ahern ducked through a bulkhead door leading along to the quarters sectioned off for officers, picking his feet up before he tripped over.

"He's worse at being honest than he is at telling tall ones, sir."

"I think I can sympathise with the poor lad, Sergeant. We're both new boys."

"Not a good idea making connections with the men outside of your duties as battery commander, sir, if you'd take your sergeant's advice."

"Taken and appreciated, Sergeant." Ahern returned a salute from a passing naval rating. "I'll talk to A Branch and see if the regiment was due replacements. Bit chaotic leaving Platis, I understand?"

"Proceedings were fairly orderly, as far as the withdrawal went, sir. I can only speak for the battery, though. Have you met the others sergeants yet?"

"I haven't, Sergeant."

"You'll get to know them over the next few days, sir."

"I have a few concerns I would like to bring up…"

"Q Branch will issue new uniforms once the regiment's stores have been restocked, sir. You have first-class NCOs—"

"The guns, Sergeant."

"Best guess, weeks to months before Lairs receives all twenty-four guns. That does not count replacement parts and ammunition, sir. Q Branch might be able to provide more details. I only look after my crew."

Ahern nodded. "I see. Well, thank you for the tour, Sergeant." Both NCO and officer had reached the bulkhead that led in to officer's country. Ahern's bags had been placed near the door, ready for him to take.

"Sir." Reimer took the offered hand and shook. "I'll be in the sergeant's billet if you have any further questions. Shall I detail an OR to assist you?"

"No, no thank you. I'll take it, Sergeant."

"Sir." Reimer about-faced and marched off.

 _An OR to assist me?_ Ahern stared down at his OG kitbag and holdall, a private purchase, and wondered. _That poor lad looked quite the lost sheep. I might request him as an orderly and give him the role of platoon runner, if such a placement exists on the battery._ Ahern looked up at the opening of the bulkhead door. "If you wouldn't mind…" he indicated his bags to a young, dark-haired woman in a boiler suit and soft cap. _On the return from an errand perhaps?_ "My bags will need seeing to my quarters," Ahern said when the grubby rating hesitated a second before stooping to gather up his bags and following him back through the accessway. A muffled snort given by one of a pair of subalterns chatting together turned Ahern's head. _That's a funny look that man gave me._ Ahern checked down his front. _I'm not unzipped an I? No stains, nothing unbuttoned._ "Excuse me, lieutenant, I'm looking for the billets." Ahern stopped by a staff officer with red tabs on his collar and an unlit pipe in his mouth. "I'm Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment, Battery B." The staff officer's pipe, jammed between his teeth, broke in half. His hand snapped up to his brow, where he held it rigidly. _Aren't we of equal rank?_ Ahern returned the salute.

"The signs mounted on the bulkhead wall will point you towards the billets." The staff officer's eyes flickered sideways to the rating whose lips remained sealed. "They are coloured-coded. Blue for billets…" The lieutenant trailed off, salvaged what remained of his pipe, and hurried past Ahern.

"What's biting him?" Ahern noticed a nearby plaque that gave the layout of the surroundings and examined it. Leaning against the wall beside the plaque, two second lieutenants, both Infantry, ceased their conversation. Ahern paid no notice to the other officers, bristling when one of them suppressed a laugh. _Really, what is the matter?_ Ahern played out the map in his head and, sooner rather than later, found his way in to the billet one deck below him. _Ah, a shared billet. Not what I expected._

Bunks, arranged in a corner, held two of the other three officers Ahern now shared a billet with. The third, knelt over his unzipped kitbag in the centre of the room, stood up in alarm. "Ma'am."

 _Ma'am?_ Ahern's bags thumped down. _Oh, merciful Emperor…_ Ahern's cheeks reddened as the rating unzipped her boiler suit and removed her arms from the sleeves. _Strike me down in shame!_ Ahern stared at the naval attire the woman was wearing underneath. On her shoulders were boards decorated with gold and riding upon the bulging tunic was a single row of coloured ribbon; combat awards.

"I take it we understand one another, Second Lieutenant?" The woman fixed Ahern with an icy glare and folded her arms.

"Perfectly, ma'am." Ahern's hands, warm with sweat, clenched tightly behind his back. _A full lieutenant. She outranks me!_ "I can only offer my sincerest apologies for my mistake. I have yet to find my feet."

"May I have the room, gentlemen?" The three subalterns scarpered without a word.

"Now, a name please."

"Uh, Luka Ahern, ma'am."

"Battery B, was it? I think I met two of yours earlier…"

"I can only apologise for my men's misconduct," Ahern said quickly. "The fault lay with me. I assumed you were returning from running an errand. Let me buy you—"

"You will most certainly be the one buying the drinks, Lieutenant." The woman pulled the upper half of her boiler suit in to place and tugged her arms through the sleeves. "This will not go on record, I assure you."

"Thank you, ma'am. Again, I apologise."

"Just one thing…" The woman did up her zip and tucked her collar away. "I ran in to two of yours earlier, at least I thought they were yours."

"Oh, the boy." Ahern bit the inside of his lip. "I hadn't the foggiest where he came from honestly. I was going to check with A Branch after seeing my kit to the billet."

"Drow and Larn, was it?"

"I assume so, ma'am. One of the gun commanders was showing me around the crews just now."

"The boy in the medical robe. Wheelchair-bound?"

"He was on his feet when I saw him. Seemed able-bodied if you ask me."

"What I recall was that he was hit by a lorry on Platis. That was what he told me."

"A lorry?" Ahern's brows shot up. "Throne, I had no idea."

The woman shook her head. "It's irrelevant now, anyway. Could you… off the record, perhaps write Larn and Drow up for extra duties they will perform for me in their spare time?"

"And what is the nature of these extra duties?" Ahern said slowly. "Anything illegal I…"

"No, no, just courier work."

"Oh."

"Certain amenities not normally available to servicemen and women…" The woman pulled a pair of pilot's gloves, part leather and cotton, from her back pocket. "…Would be desirable."

 _You want my men running black market errands for you?_ Ahern balked. _The nerve of it!_ "Why, certainly, I could do that, ma'am." Ahern shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Might I ask your name?"

"Pripinec." She tugged on her gloves. "Amelia Pripinec. Though, right now it is Lieutenant Pripinec or ma'am. Does that make sense, Lieutenant?"

"Perfectly, ma'am."

Pripinec moved past Ahern towards the door. "Please, do not make attempts to hunt me down as a predator would. When I am ready, I will find you. Good morning."

"Good morning, ma'am." Ahern remained rooted until the solid clunk of the bulkhead shutting behind allowed him reprieve. "Oh my god…" He gasped, slick hands flying up to his face. "Day one. Day-bloody-one…"

* * *

 ** _Nemora_ , five days later**

Declared fit, the infirmary discharged me, splitting headache and all, with the clothes on my back and an order to report to Bay Four, no questions. Down in the humid swirl of bipedal power-loaders, flashing lights, and wail of alarms, I approached the first officer I saw. It was Ahern.

"Sir?" I called out, raising my hand to salute Ahern.

"Sorry?" Ahern spun around, lunged at me and pulled me out of the path of a clanking loader that was backing out of a canyon of shipping crates. "Whoa! Watch yourself down here, Larn. How are you? Are you back to one-hundred per cent?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're on the battery now?"

"I don't know, sir. Some lifer came 'round and told me I was s'posed to go down to Bay Four. He didn't say anything about who I was reporting to."

"Some who?" Ahern looked puzzled.

"What are we doing down here, sir?" I flinched at the shriek of an alarm.

"Loading detail. The Tetrarch's over there." Ahern pointed through the narrow gaps between the shipping crates at the single lander taking up a good portion of the hangar's length. On both flanks of the fat beast's body, loading ramps took the weight of OG-clad grunts carrying crates aboard.

"In't that the Navy 's job, sir?" I wrinkled my nose. "All I can see are us lot doing the labour. Why can't them stompers carry the good aboard?"

"I'm just as much in the dark as you are, Larn. I just wish they'd let us know in advance, is all. Drow and the others should be over there somewhere."

"Am I in their section – uh, crew, sir? I thought there was too many…"

"You count yourself lucky you weren't posted away to a replacement depot, Larn. You're staying with us just until official papers come through. But, since you're only one man, and the establishment is made up of trillions, that might take a very long time. Right, over you go."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, remember to keep the questions to a minimum, alright? There's a good lad."

 _He seems alright. Does such a thing as a good-natured officer exist?_ On the way over to the Tetrarch, I took care to keep out of the paths of the power-loaders, not that it was in any way possible to mistake them for something benign; all were bright yellow and each footfall was a giant hammer blow upon the deck, rattling the Crotch-issue bones inside my body. _There they are_. I smiled and waved at Art at the same time he turned his back, busying himself with the other grunts in the gun crew. _Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. Is this all of us?_ A power-loader with a shipping container in its claws marched in front of me and began to pivot in my direction. _Can he see me?_ I scuttled to the right, in-between one of the steel canyons. Without pause, the power-loader dumped the crate at the opening, leaving me only one way out. _Thanks for that._ I flung a rude gesture his way and peeped through a crack at the Tetrarch. "Hey, are you…?" I trailed off, the words leaving me. Four armed grunts in full gear, body armour, hard cover and all, slunk past the far end of the canyon. _Did they hear me?_ I flattened myself against the steel wall. None of the four glanced in my direction, all flitted past without a word. _Why are they armed?_ My hair standing on end, I hurried after the four, my heart jiggling. _Oh my god…_ I gaped as the four burst out from between a family of crates and unloaded their lasguns on the entire platoon. "ART!" I wailed, tearing after the four traitors, who were spraying in all directions. I picked out the closest grunt to me and swung my fist in to the back of his head. Knocked forwards, the grunt's grip on his weapon slackened. I gathered up the lasgun and turned it on the three murderers, letting fly from the hip. _What the…?_ None of the three fell. A noise came from the weapon – the usual whizz-crack a Triplex gave – but nothing else. Oblivious to their cohort's 'death', the three fled, leaving the entire battery lying flat on their faces and me the only one standing. I jumped at the sound of a whistle being blown. The blower, an officer in firmly creased khaki fatigues, trotted out of hiding. Ahern, at the commotion, ran up and began haranguing the officer, who cut him off curtly. "Lieutenant, your entire platoon has just been killed at the cost of one of my men. We now have the lander and all its cargo." The officer wrote something upon the clipboard he carried.

"I – what? What the hell's going on here?" Ahern cried. "Why wasn't I informed you were staging some silly wargame?"

"Silly wargame? No game, this is an advanced combat tactical exercise – will you please order that man with the Triplex R-One-Niner to lie down, he is dead."

"Well, surely he is the only survivor, Lieutenant. None of your men bothered to take him in to account, and he killed one of yours too."

"Alright, that's enough." The officer gestured at me with his pencil. "Hand him his weapon back there, Guardsman."

"Oi, get up." I poked the grunt's soft belly with my toe. "Get up, ye tit."

One hand massaging the back of his head, the grunt swiped the noisemaker from me and hobbled away.

"Alright, Lieutenant, ninety-six per cent of your platoon has just been wiped out with you and the new platoon sergeant there the only survivors."

 _New platoon sergeant?_

"I'm sorry, can I have a word with you, Lieutenant." Ahern took the office by the shoulder and moved away with him. "B Battery, continue as you were ordered."

The gunners picked themselves up. Art alone made over to me and gave me a hug. "Good one coming up behind them twats, mate. Really roasted them there."

"Yeah. Yeah…"

"What's all this stuff that's gotta go to Grendel anyway. Why'd they need it so important?" Wenrok, shooting me with an evil glare, kicked one of the wooden crates. The side panel, poorly nailed in place, fell off. Flat bags with folded plastic sheets inside fell on to the deck.

"Thought it was food or ammo…" Kerris tore open one of the bags with his teeth. "What's this?"

"Sleeping bag?" Wyrig sniffed at the crisp green material.

"It's got a zip here." Samuel played with the zip. "You can get inside it."

"It's not a—"

"Shuddup, runt, nobody asked you over 'ere," Wyrig spat. "Oi, everyone, he's not fucking Lairs. He's an outsider."

A bark of outrage shut Wyrig off before he could get too revved up. Sergeant Reimer stormed in to view. "Who opened that shipping crate?"

"He did." Samuel hurled the open packet at me. "He did. The outsider did." Everybody nodded, except Art.

"Nice try." Reimer snapped his fingers. "Those are bodybags. If you shut one of your number out, you cannot count on him to save your life in combat. You will be the one that is zipped up and shipped home in it. Emperor help you if you find yourself next to him when under fire. Now pick them all up and pack them all up. These are all going to Grendel, yes. Now, gunner and private, you are all going to Grendel. No questions. I want these all done before eleven-hundred hours." Reimer glanced at the chrono hanging from a buttonhole. "That is ninety-four minutes from now. Get cracking."

"Sorry 'bout this, James," Art muttered to me when the other gunners were out of earshot. "I had no idea."

"Well, neither did I. Just didn't want anyone to die, that's all."

"Glad you were here – glad you _are_ here I mean."

"Not a nice feeling though…"

"Feeling of what?" Art stooped behind a crate and waited for me to find purchase on the opposite end.

"Being an outsider."


	7. Chapter 7

**_The Gorynych_**

The foursome of Izuru, Saeros, Derin, and Maess donned the articles of clothing belonging to the Adeptus Mechanicus, laid out for them on tables set up in the shadow of a captured Arvus Lighter in preparation for their insertion. Unwashed and holed in places, the blood-red robe Izuru took on over her supple breastplate smelt as well. _How in the name of the Mother am I to move with any fluidity in this stinking garment?_

"Madam?" Saeros, in identical garb, approached. "Have orders been given in detail? I do not know the why of this undertaking."

"Nor I, Saeros. Nor I." Izuru crouched down and fastened the metallic overshoes Saeros wore to pass for the lumbering boots of the machines. With only the toes visible underneath the robe, the disguise would pass all but the closest scrutiny.

"Aah, no, it presses!" Saeros yelped. "Please, they crush my feet."

"Then exchange them with my own." Izuru set about removing the clasps, one by one, then passed Saeros her own boots. "I have demonstrated. Now you must carry out the procedure unattended."

"Yes, my lady. Gratitude." Saeros limped away.

"Ignorance will preserve him, lady." Derin placed a set of goggles and a rebreather on the table beside Izuru. "This will shield you from human scrutiny."

Izuru tutted. "As a trained specialist, I would have the comfort of knowing the basic outline of the mission before embarking in to the unknown. Were you privy?"

Derin's head drooped until his chin touched his breast. "…No. I believe her eminence passed all the details on to the wayforger, who will brief us upon our insertion in to human territory."

"During or after?"

"I do not know, my lady."

"Have you doubts?"

"None whatsoever. I eagerly anticipate observing a ranger in the field." Derin pulled the adjustable strap of his own rebreather over his head and let the device hang from his neck. "Your footwear?"

"The young one's feet took issue with his pair. I offered him an exchange…"

"Lady Numerial?"

"Y-yes, I will – I will finish preparations." Izuru blinked. The stumble stirred a bubble of unease in her gut. _Why did I do that?_

From the tight confines of the Arvus, Maess dropped. "Please, Felarch, Ranger, Corsair, if you would find accommodation within, we can be underway."

"No farewell committee?" Izuru winced at the pressure upon her feet with the fastening of the tight clasps.

"Vliss observes from afar." Saeros, his rebreather dangling down his chest, returned.

"No lecherous prince creeping in the shadows?" Izuru plucked the overshoes from her own footwear. "Kaela, I must go without. Unless further pairs were provided?"

"My lady…" Saeros stooped to unfasten his own boots.

"Stay that compassionate hand, young one," Derin said. "Your mistress did not command you."

Saeros backed away, the tips of his ears darkening.

"No matter, let us away." Izuru gestured for Saeros to embark. "Saeros?"

"After you, my lady." Derin tailed Izuru as both climbed the ramp leading up inside the Arvus.

"Built for the lesser species…" Saeros muttered, his head tilted to one side.

"Find your seat, young one." Izuru touched the muzzle of the long rifle that poked out of the narrow bag sitting next to the pilot's seat. Checking in her peripheral vision for any observation, Izuru slid a wraithbone knife from the bag and tucked it away.

"One wonders how such a stunted species grew to such potency, while ours declined." Derin groaned. Only seated did he have room to move his head without constraint. "Identification belonging to a Menial of the Adeptus Mechanicus." Derin handed Izuru a yellowed booklet to keep. "Memorise the name and details of the being. Saeros?"

 _Tyssa Marchent._ Izuru gazed at the black-and-white profile of the human-machine hybrid. _To taint one's flesh with cybernetics is unthinkable. A cannibalisation of the sacred body._ Izuru licked a finger and flicked through the pages. "The machine has not received its requisite stamps in this paybook for nine Imperial months." Izuru raised the blank pages and showed them to Derin. "The profile does not resemble me in the slightest, Felarch. Saeros, your identification tells a similar tale?" Saeros's weathered ID drooped in his hands.

"Our heights will arouse suspicion also," Izuru said. "Do you know the average height of the mechanical slaves, Felarch?"

"I do not, madam. Ours is to serve, not to question." Derin worked at the adjusters on the harness across his chest. "Please, the both of you, find comfort where you sit. T'will be many hours before we breach Grendel's atmosphere. Memorise your aliases."

"I cannot." Izuru unclasped her harness and stood up. "The stench of the humans lies heavy…"

"Please, please consider your options, my lady." Derin waved at Saeros to sit down. "The princess will make a corpse of you for such open defiance. I am embittered at your situation, 'tis unenviable, but you _must_ see this through without question. Opportunity may arise in the near-future where you might reclaim your offspring and be free once more. But it will not be this day."

Izuru grasped an overhead hold and stared down at Derin. "You are loyal to the princess. This places us at odds. It may aggrieve me on the day we regard one another through our respective gunsights."

"The pain will be all mine, lady. But, for now let us set the future aside and remain professional cohorts."

"I wonder if you truly know who it is you serve?" Izuru sat back in her seat. "Why you continue to do so?"

"And tell me…" Derin leant forwards. "Why does an outcast of Alaitoc serve Ulthwé. What loyalty is that?"

Conscious of the building roar of the Arvus's propulsion, Izuru turned her head and closed her eyes. _No stories for you today, Felarch_ , _for through you the princess listens._

"My lady?"

"Disturb her not, young corsair. She is wise to take sleep when she can."

"How can she…?"

"Hold your tongue. You will never speak on Grendel unless addressed by the felarch, the wayforger, or the ranger. The language of the humans is unknown to you, is it not?"

"We were taught only that it was a barbarous tongue, and that our rifles and blades are the sole means of communications with their kind."

"A firm hand, I agree. But retain a cool head always. Dispense with sentiment and harden your heart. They are enemy."

"I remember the young human on Platis," Saeros murmured. Izuru's eyes snapped open.

"Recall not the target, but your failure to take it. Learn from a mistake, so it may never be committed again."

"Nothing more on Platis," Izuru snapped. "Either of you. Tread not in the darkness of the past."

"I am sorry, my lady." Saeros looked down at his hands in his lap.

"Grendel awaits," Derin said. "May your fortunes change."

Izuru's gaze lingered on Saeros. "Did you listen to your felarch?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Be seen and not heard. That is all you need know. Now, enough chatter. Rest. You do not know when the next opportunity to sleep will present itself."

Saeros nodded. "I understand, Lady Numerial."

"We strike a new page in this song." A smile touched the corners of Izuru's lips. _The song of bloody-handed revenge._

* * *

 **Tetrarch Lander, Grendel Atmosphere**

The men of Battery B, no more a gang of street-thug lookalikes, filled the buttock-numbing bucket seats in the Tetrarch's hold. All odds and ends turned in to Quartermaster Branch, the battery was now clad in simple olive-grey fatigues in numerous shades. Trousers and jackets, from field green, to stone grey, to shades of khaki; no two articles of clothing were alike. Reissued body armour – zip-up flak jackets – bulked up each grunt. Heavy kitbags, standard OG, held all available deck space hostage with their bulk.

"Guess we're not important enough to get the good stuff." Art tugged at the ¾-inch collar of his flak jacket.

"'Cause it's not a proper war, that's why," Wenrok said. "It's a security detail. We're gonna be standing 'round on street corners looking tough."

"Mmm, catch the bird's eyes doin' that." Kerris, opposite me, grinned. "Proper cushy billet too, I hope."

"You alright, James?" Art nudged me. "Bit peaky there."

"Urgh, last lander I was in came a cropper." I massaged my aching temples.

"How's the headgear?"

"Overture's done now. It's a full orchestra beating out a piece in there now."

"Ask Reimer if you can pop down to A branch and see the MO later."

"What branch?"

"Medical Officer, he'll hit you up with some pills, maybe a prescrip… prescription." Art sat up in his seat. "Ooh, you hear that?"

"S'all quiet." Samuel poked Wyrig. "Wiry-boy, we're planetside."

"Comfy ride that." Art bent over his kitbag. "Here's to a cushy billet."

"Number Four, on your feet!" Sergeant Reimer sidled along the passage, kicking at unattended kitbags. "On the command, form single file and follow the gunner in front of you. We are about to debus on to Grendel. Samuel, do not leave that bag behind. I want it presented when we get to barracks as full as it was when you heaved in it on the way down. Bombardier, make sure he keeps it with him."

"C'mon, Samuel, one hand on your kitbag." Stazak thumped Samuel on the back. "Fresh air'll do you good."

"Got some fluff hanging off your…" Art plucked at my fresh beret. Lairs wore dark blue berets shaped to the right. Mine, freshly-issued, I soaked in water for a time and moulded it to my head whilst taking care to leave the liner in. I wasn't sure that the metal crest of the regiment, displayed on my cover, was something I deserved.

"Pray for a clear sky." I put on a smile. "Shall we?"

A miasma of aircraft fuel and choking wind greeted Art and I on our climb down from the Tetrarch's belly and on to an airstrip in the shadow of iron-grey rainclouds. Flooded with personnel ships, the tarmac vibrated upon each subsequent take-off and touch-down. Puddles, trembling with ripples, leapt upon the gunner's boots as they splashed through single-file. "Cheery." Art weaved around a deep puddle. "Better than Butcher's Rock though, eh?"

I made a face and nodded at another Tetrarch showing us its innards. A six-wheeled armoured car with a stubby cannon in its turret was rolling down the wide ramp. "Security detail? What's the armour for then?"

"When's the Crotch ever done things half-arsed." Art shrugged. "Show of force, innit?"

"Alright, Number Four Gun, single file and follow the other crews. Lively now." Reimer chivvied us along. "Iggery. Stazak, police the tail-end."

"Iggery, that's a new one."

"Fast, James."

"Yep, before it starts to chuck it down."

"Fizzers, you two?" Stazak squawked.

"No thanks, Bombardier," Art replied. " _Say no, James_ ," he whispered to me.

"No, Bombardier."

"Good answers. Now, chop-chop."

 _What's a fizzer then?_ Dogged by Stazak, Art and I made after the other gunners. Even the bombardier plugged his ears when a Tetrarch bellowed overhead. In the swirl, berets scattered to the four winds, mine included. Hoots of laughter came from shrewd grunts who carried on, smug that they had kept their covers in check. I fell out and scooped up the cover, wiping the droplets from the crown and reseating it.

"And here comes the rain…" Art's pace slowed. "Wait."

"Rain be damned, that's incoming mail!" Stazak cried. "INCOMING!"

Short, sharp whinnies of falling mortars preceded whip-cracks as the shells burst, flinging flecks of boiling tarmac in the air. The gunners broke lines, scattering to hide underneath hulls and behind landing claws. "Who's doing that?" Somebody shouted aloud. "Is this a war?"

"Is this a war!" Wenrok laughed.

"Well who put it here?"

"Bugger knows."

Lieutenant Ahern, on his feet, sped past, calling for us to follow. "B Battery, follow me!" The ten second bombardment left behind an empty silence, gradually taken up by alarms going off on the airbase and the fire crews beginning to appear. Bulbous and inhuman in their one-piece suits, the firefighters unravelled snaking hoses attached to their vehicles and attacked the fires spreading from ships damaged in the bombardment. Other vessels, waiting to be given the all-clear, buzzed overhead. _Someone doesn't want us here, that's a definite. But who?_

Guided to an untouched hangar, Crew Four milled about until Ahern intervened. "Sergeant, sort this crew out. I'm off to find some transport."

"Sir. Single file, gunners. Sharpish." Reimer came about as a chief petty officer appeared behind him.

"Is that your commanding officer, Sergeant?"

"The officer on the double? Yes, he's acquiring MT for us. What seems to be the problem here?"

"No problem. I want these guardsmen inside the hangar and lining up."

"Lining up, what for?" Half of the battery were already inside the hangar. At a given command, they dropped their kitbags.

"Oi, what's goin' on in there?" Wenrok, behind Samuel who was nearest the open door stood up on tiptoes. "Pitch in there."

"Shove off." Samuel lifted his other bag over Wenrok's head. "Slippery-slidey, what am I hiding?"

"Nah, Sarn't wants it back remember? Keep that sick squared away."

"I don't wanna go in there now, he's Navy." Wyrig sneered at the CPO. "Not playing any part in his buggery."

"…Get to the bottom of this." Reimer ducked around Samuel and disappeared inside. "Hope you're keeping that, Samuel. I don't want you leaving any of it anywhere. If I find one speck around here!" Curious murmurs flew around the gunners stranded outside. _What are they doing in there?_ I switched my kitbag from one shoulder to the other and shook my aching hand.

"Did a number on us." Wyrig bit a fingernail. "Rude bastards."

The CPO returned, Reimer in tow. At the former's behest we filed in to the hangar and made up a third and fourth rank behind the other two crews who waited before a row of female personnel in grey. "Lumpy-jumpers!" Wyrig said under his breath. "Half a dozen of 'em!"

"Third and fourth rank will drop their kitbags on the command," the CPO said. "Drop!" Our kitbags thumped beside us. "First rank will drop their trousers on the command. Drop!" Titters frittered through the other ranks as the rustle of heavy-duty cotton and clink of belt buckles ran through the first rank. The queasy Samuel held the honour of being first in Gun Four. I lifted myself up as high as I could on my toes and saw a blond head bob in front of Samuel.

"I am going to insert this and take a sample. It will not hurt, Guardsman."

"Okay, uhh, I do speak Gothic." Samuel threw a smirk at us as the woman knelt in front of him. "Ooh, cold hands there, lady."

"I am a lieutenant."

"Oh, sorry, sir, miss, ma'am." Wyrig, third in line, snorted and began unfastening his belt. _Just what's this all for anyway? I'm keeping my trousers up._

"Petty Officer, what the hell is going on here?" Ahern, his body armour wet with rain, rushed in. "Who gave you permission to do this?"

"Sir, this a Navy matter. All personnel disembarking must have their blood tested for Chaos taint. We must think of the civilian populace of this world. If disease is brought here it can spread to epidemic levels."

"Let's go over here." Ahern took the CPO away. I caught a few choice words Ahern spoke, nothing an officer and a gentleman should really have said aloud. It left the CPO pale. With his bluster deflated, the Navy packed up and departed.

"Did you really let the Navy take over in my absence?" Ahern said to Reimer once he had finished with the CPO.

"CPO outranks me, sir." Reimer scratched his moustache. "Just glad the WNs have jogged on before any of the lads could jump them."

"Point, Sergeant. I've found us some motor transport. Form the men up, quick sharp."

"Eurgh, shame." Art straightened out the kink in the groin of his trousers. "Can't remember the last time I've had me cock out before a lady."

"Hope the locals are better looking than them lumpy-jumpers," Stazak tutted. "Most sour-faced mattresses I've ever seen. Slept with uglier though…"

"I dunno, maybe they didn't fancy seeing four lines of cocks." Art hoisted his kitbag over his shoulder. "One down here, one up there." Art pointed at Stazak's groin then at his face.

"D'you remember those fizzers, Drow?" Stazak motioned at Art and I to fall in.

"Aw, I don't recall…" Art's eyes wandered around the ceiling.

"What's a fizzer anyway?" I asked.

"Jankers; a charge, Larn." Stazak waved a finger at me. "I'll find you the book on it if you like."

"Erm, I just wanted to know, that's all."

"Tell you what." Stazak rubbed his hands together. "You can both buff up some lovely old boots. I'll tell you all about it then."

" _Fuck_." Art mouthed at me once Stazak had turned his back. " _First ten minutes planetside and we're ridin' a bloody fizzer!_ "

I shook my head and sighed. "Miss Platis yet?"

"Pfft, not a chance. Butcher's Rock?"

"Number ten-thousand."

Projectiles hammered us from the sky as we began our march to the waiting transport, the rain soaking through our flak jackets and clothing. Drops shone on the points of the razor-coils tipping the pair of twenty-foot-high fences bordering the airstrip. Concrete blockhouses ringed with sandbags and studded with embrasures guarded the gateway. Thickset soldiers in four-colour combats and bottle-green helmets crouched behind man-packed weapons. All were armed with long-barrelled autoguns, trained outwards at the adjacent street. _Are those civilians out there?_ I squinted through the drizzle at five civilians walking briskly down the street. Two women and three children. _Why aren't the kids inside?_

"James." Art touched my shoulder. "Mount up." I found purchase on the damp rope hanging from the Hennus's canvas roof and climbed up to the gunners. "Careful." Art dove a hand underneath my swinging kitbag. "Go on, mate, up you go."

Stazak lifted the tailgate up to me and Art – the last to board – and locked it in place. "D'you see them civvies, Art?"

"Could be every day for them." Art grasped the iron frame above his head. I fumbled for a handhold and pressed my knee against the tailgate. Grey smoke poured from the exhausts. A shudder and the Hennus rolled forwards, snaking through the barricades and out on to the street. _It looks almost rural. Nothing grand about it at all._ Red bricked buildings and high stone walls drew past us. Graffiti painted on the largest surfaces was unintelligible. _Oh, shit_. I gripped the tailgate and leant over it. A motor vehicle, little more than a blackened husk, sat on its roof at the side of the road. Bricks, fallen from a crumbling wall, were scattered across the street, fragments of it the Hennus bumped over.

"The hell happened to that?" Art pulled a face.

"The wall or the car?" I caught Art's eye. He shook his head. Every other junction was guarded by the same soldiers in the peculiar camouflage, backed up often by armoured cars sitting behind semi-circles of sandbags and coils of wire. _Emperor Botherers Out!_ A tall wall read in bright white paint.

"Chaos taint! They're a funny bunch, them boaters." Wyrig guffawed.

"Is it even a disease. You can't catch it fucking, can you?" Samuel scratched at his groin.

"What, like the Clap?"

"Aw, you'd know, wouldn't you?" Samuel's voice rose. "His legs nearly fell off. It was hilarious, walking all bandy-legged like."

"Brilliant, mate." Kerris laughed.

"Yeah, don't be spreadin' yourself around here. Locals will string you up good and poke holes in ya." Wenrok mimed a pair of scissors. "Snip-snip."

I shared a looked with Art. _Why do you hang 'round with this crowd? Bunch of lowlifes._

Window frames, ringed with glass teeth, watched from both sides of the street, their former occupants spread across the road; a crackling carpet crunching beneath the thick tyres. A trail of black smoke rose from a window higher up. "Remember the riots back on Alderia?" Art said to Wenrok. "Looks like the capital, here."

"Eh, where is 'ere though?" Wenrok covered his nose as the stench of burning motor fuel covered the lorry. "What they burnin' on that pyre, heretics?"

"S'illegal to waste fuel, Wen." Wyrig raised a finger. "Stonin' costs nothing. Sustainable procedure too."

"Like popping heads do ya?"

"Poppin' cherries, that's my game." Wyrig slapped his knee.

"Speak of it and up it pops." Samuel waved at a local, stripped to the waste and tied to a wooden post in the centre of a square. "Flogging post over there. Nice one, dickhead!"

"Do one, mate," Art jeered.

"Toss me off!" Wyrig flicked muck from his nose over the tailgate.

I watched the shackled man until he was out of sight. "What he do?"

"Dunno, he had some tattoo on his chest. Gang member maybe? One of those anti-imperial anarchists?"

"Don't matter, does it? Long as somebody's getting the lash, the crowd's happy. Innocent or guilty don't mean nothing." Wyrig nodded at Samuel. "Ain't that right, boy?"

"Point, Wiry. Nice seein' some sod getting his just-desserts every week."

"Good stuff that." Wenrok added. Over a two-lane bridge spanning a wide river the Hennus rolled, slowing at the far end and snaking through barricades, watched by men in shining body armour and full-face helms. _Are they Guard, PDF?_

Art answered my question. "Arbites. Tin Men, James." Animal barks came from cyberhounds, straining on their master's leash. Part organic, part mechanical, the beast's paws scraped alongside the Hennus flanks. Equally Harsh shouts from the Tin Men curbed the dog's enthusiasm. I saw bludgeons and power mauls brandished as the lorry left the Arbites checkpoint behind. The chatter slowly lost its drive and died away at the roadside, leaving a glum silence in its wake. Only once the lorry drew to a halt in a courtyard and Stazak jogged around from the cab did the battery get themselves together. "Debus." Stazak unlatched the tailgate and lowered it. "Drow, Larn, out." I hopped down, taking my kitbag with me. "Line up in your respective crews, gunners. Larn, report to the battery commander. Well, hurry up, for god's sake."

"See ya later, pal," Art said. "Have a good one."

"Drow, line up there. You heard the order, Larn." I lowered my chin in the rain and slouched over to Lieutenant Ahern, awaiting me inside the doorway of what appeared to be a school.

"Look lively, Private." Ahern ushered me inside. "You'll be working for me directly. Strange billet they've given us here."

"Looks like a school, sir." I took off my beret and squeezed it.

"School, schola, academy… deserted too." Ahern examined the placards on the walls. "History, mathematics, philosophy. Do you know what a batman is?"

"No, sir."

"Nothing fancy, I assure you. You'll be batting for me, Private, seeing as we're a man overstrength."

"Yes, sir."

"You'll be my runner too, or otherwise perform tasks I don't have the time for during the day. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. The officers' billets are in the next building across. The Science Annex, I think."

 _A revised history of Grendel,_ I read on the wall as I passed. _Why would they revise their own history? Is that what they teach, or taught rather?_ "I'll keep me mouth shut, sir."

"Good lad. I won't need you one-hundred per cent of the time. You'll billet with the gunners in the gymnasium."

 _He's letting me stay with Art!_ "Thank you, sir."

"Foul day…" Ahern turned up his collar once we were back outside. "Ah, Five Hundred have arrived."

 _Joparr 500?_ A mix of four and six-wheeled armoured cars were parked around the yard. A pair of sentries in body armour and soft cover guarded them. "The paratroopers, sir?"

"Droptroopers. Not sure which they prefer honestly." A Joparr offered Ahern a salute. The latter returned it.

"…Berets."

"Odd practice. Tradition, I suppose." Ahern led me inside the Science Annex. "I haven't quite worked out the way around yet." Ahern's voice faded when an officer in Barrack Dress approached from the opposite direction. "Morning, sir." Ahern saluted. I followed.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. At ease. Should the private soldier be in here?"

"Why, yes, Major. Private Larn is batting for me."

"Mm, good show. I am Major Delica, aide to Colonel Brecher, your battalion commander."

"Ahern, sir. Officer Commanding, Battery B, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment. Haven't seen any guns 'round here have you, Major? My battery lacks any armaments larger than rifles."

Delica laughed. "Q branch being tight again are they?"

"I wouldn't know, sir, I've only just arrived with my battery."

"Ah, that's fine then. I'll take you to meet the battalion commander. Let your man know the way to your billet and we can be off, Ahern."

"Well, I'm really not sure of the way either, Major. We arrived together."

"Right, um…" Delica checked his watch. "Take the corridor to my right here, Private, follow it along until you reach a white door. If it's already occupied, you'll have to scout around."

"Are Lairs and Five Hundred the only regiments billeting here, Major?" Ahern asked.

"To an extent…" Delica waved me away. "Off – off you go, Private."

"Sir." I brought my heels together. _What does he mean to an extent? Who else is billeting here?_ The officers now spoke in hushed voices. _What's the officers being so secret about?_ Down a corridor carpeted with the thinnest green material, so thin I could feel the stone floor underneath, I found the nearest white door, one of a long line, painted crudely and drowned in varnish. _Now what am I supposed to do?_ None of the doors had any indication as to who occupied the rooms aside a placard with a three-digit number printed on it. The door nearest to me was _237_. I took a step forwards and rapped on the door with a knuckle. The silver handle refused to budge. _Locked. Are they all locked?_ None of them gave an inch. _What a prize fool I'll look when I go back to Ahern and tell him._ Eight doors down, I knocked on the last in the row. "Enter," a muffled voice said. I turned the handle and pushed the door inwards to see three plainclothes men sitting on worn sofas around a mess of cards, alcohol, and cigarettes piled on a small table. "Oi, you fucking sneak!" A dark-haired man in a maroon sweater and leather shoulder holster threw down his cards and rushed at my retreating form.

"Sorry, I… I was looking for a billet for—"

Shoulder Holster threw the door open and strode out in to the corridor. "Stand up straight when you address an officer. Explain your presence in the Officers' Billet before I throw you in the Glasshouse. Who is your commanding officer and attached political officer?"

"Sir." I came to attention, my heart banging inside my chest. "Sir, I'm batting for Lieutenant Ahern, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment. We just arrived at the barracks, sir. I was ordered to locate a suitable billet for my officer, who is with Major Delica right now, sir."

"And where is Major Delica?" Shoulder Holster's eyes narrowed. Underneath the black finger of hair, his mouth had become a thin line.

"Taking my officer to meet the battalion commander, sir."

"Who is?"

"Colonel Brecher, sir."

" _Lieutenant_ Colonel Brecher to you, Private." Shoulder Holster pointed back the way I had come. "Walk. We're going to see your platoon commander." The butt of a laspistol protruded from the officer's holster. _Wonder if he's going to use it?_

Under the eye of the plainclothes officer, I was hustled through more corridors and stairways, encountering admin staff who nodded at my escort and otherwise ignored me. _No, I'm the naughty little boy off to see the headmaster for a caning._ The officer, after ordering me to wait outside an office, went and knocked sharply on the glass. Through the blur I could see three silhouettes, two standing and one sitting. Ahern, Delica, and presumably the battalion commander. "Enter."

Shoulder Holster opened the door. "Sir, I have an agent of the enemy, sent to disrupt my operation with me right now. He refuses to give his name and number."

 _Refuses to give his name and number?_ _He never asked!_

"Captain, I am in the middle of an important meeting. Your interloper can wait," a clipped, nasal voice replied.

"Er, beg pardon, Captain, you wouldn't have my man out there, would you? I sent him off to find a suitable billet earlier. Major?"

"The lieutenant speaks the truth, Captain. Sorry, Ahern, what was your man's name?"

"Larn, sir."

"Captain, can you please explain what happened? In brief." The nasal voice of the battalion commander spoke.

"Private Larn, who was unaware where my men were billeted, intruded without giving a reason why he was out of bounds."

"Private Larn is batting for me—"

"That's a strange tone you took just then, Lieutenant."

"Captain." Brecher's voice cut the captain off. "I see no point in continuing this discussion. It looks to me that the owner of the keys needs finding. That is all."

"Yes, sir." The captain glared at me, his moustache bristling, when he walked past. Still stood at attention, my eyes remained fixed to a spot on the opposite wall. Full to bursting, I let loose the air in my lungs. _Always putting my bloody foot in it._

"Sir, I'm sorry." I babbled at Ahern, once the battalion commander had finished with him.

"Not here," Ahern muttered, beckoning to me to follow. Without the relief of standing easy, I slammed my heels together, turned, stamped upon the carpet and marched after Ahern. "An alternate has been found in a separate annex. I expect my kit unpacked and seen to. Does that make sense, Private?"

"Yes, sir." I saluted another officer, this one in uniform, on his passing. The prospect of sorting out Ahern's kit loomed over me like a yellow-eyed shadow. _That bloody nightmare._ I scratched behind one ear. _And I've got that cocking fizzer Stazak dropped on me and Art. Who the hell are those blokes in civvies then?_ _They can't be regulars_. I bit down upon that question. It would have to wait.

* * *

 **Arvus Lighter, Lysades Subsector**

 _No being alive has ever escaped me._ Izuru awoke with the tiny, niggling thought burrowing in to the centre of her mind. Leaning forwards, Izuru stared down at the deck beneath her feet and examined the hexagonal rivets fitted by a machine-slave. "Did slumber come quickly?"

"If it came at all, it was for a fleeting moment, my lady," Saeros removed his hand from where his head rested and rubbed his eyes. "I fear I only dozed."

"Felarch?" Izuru unclipped her harness.

"Sleep will only come at my call. I need it not." Derin smiled. A human las-weapon sat partly disassembled in his lap. _Why the human weapon?_ Izuru wondered. "Status, pilot. How far out are we from Grendel's orbit?"

"We are shy 120 000 klicks from Grendel, my lady. Shall I wake you on our entry?"

"No." Izuru's eyes ran over the bank of crude buttons and switches meant for the fists of the mechanical slaves to push and slap. "Tell me, what is our mission?"

"Upon insertion…"

"Upon or after?" Izuru took out her short blade and pressed the point against where Maess's kidney was. "Another pound of pressure and I take your life, pirate. Reveal to me the princess's designs. What business has she on Grendel?"

Maess never turned a hair. "Any aggression towards the wayforger, the felarch, or your steward shall be met with reprisal, Ranger. If the princess sees no further use for you then you will be left at the tender mercy of the humans on Grendel."

"A hollow threat."

Maess shook his head. He did not take his eyes from the control bank. "You have no leverage. My life, the lives of the felarch and your steward mean nothing to her eminence."

"Tell me, pirate." Izuru pressed deeper in to Maess's robes. "Tell. Me."

"He sells arms to the humans," Saeros yapped. "I saw the containers being loaded."

"You were _not_ at liberty to pass on that knowledge!" Derin snapped. "Ranger, come away from the wayforger and return to your seat."

"You treat with the humans?" Izuru withdrew the blade. "You treat with the humans!"

Maess smiled and snorted. "It is good business providing arms for insurrection. That is all."

"I am not assisting in arms dealing. And you call yourself a wayforger?" Izuru drew her gloved hand across he brow. "Were you complicit in this, Felarch?"

"Mine is not to question the princess's decree."

"Turn us around." Izuru's voice cracked. She pinched the bridge of her nose and, pressing her thumb and forefinger together, gestured at Maess. "Turn us around."

"We are not returning to the Gorynych. All our lives will be forfeit," Maess muttered.

"Turn us around!" Izuru shouted.

Derin unfastened his harness. "My lady…"

"Turn us around!" Izuru flew at Maess, grabbed his hair and rammed him headfirst against the control panel. "Turn us aro—"

"My lady, please!" Saeros took Izuru's arm. "Stay your hand—" Izuru shoved her elbow in to Saeros's nose. " _Umphh_."

"Pirate filth." Izuru spun and balled her fist, drawing it back. "Wretched thieves, all of you!"

"Peace, my lady." Derin's forearm clamped down upon Izuru's throat. "Peace. Do not struggle. Please, do not struggle!" Spittle flew from between Izuru's teeth. Her legs flailed upwards, pushing her body from the floor. "Saeros, I need your hands. Maess, assist." Derin growled. "Maess! Saeros, take her legs. My lady, cease your struggles. Do not fight it." Izuru kicked off from the bulkhead, shoving Derin backwards, who fell on to his back. "Calm. Your strength ebbs, I can feel it. Saeros, hold her legs. Please forgive me for this, Lady Numerial. I do this for our safety." A tottering Saeros fell on to Izuru's knees and pressed down upon her feet. Twin trails of bright red blood crystals oozed from his skewed nose. "There." Derin remained motionless for a minute as the last of the fight drained from Izuru. "When I let you go, do you promise to act in a calm, professional manner and abstain from emotional outburst? Nod, please." Izuru nodded. "One, two, three." Derin released Izuru from his hold, taking the knife away from her beforehand. Izuru drifted over to the seat furthest from the cockpit and perched upon the edge. "Wayforger. Maess?" Derin touched Maess's shoulder.

"How is he?" Saeros, one hand stemming the exfil from his nose, hovered behind Derin. "Does he require medical attention?"

"He does not." Derin lowered Maess's head and turned to Izuru. "Nor will he ever," he said gravely. Saeros slumped in a seat and stared away in to space. "The wayforger knew the mission." He covered his mouth. "Now what do we do?"

"You will assist…" Derin lifted Maess clear of the pilot's seat.

"Oh…" Saeros's jaw quivered when he saw Maess's face. "How could you?"

"Silence, young one. Leave her be." Derin laid Maess upon the deck and covered him up. "With the wayforger's passing, command of the mission falls to me. Attend to your mistress if she requires you, Saeros. I must speak with the princess."

"Do not reveal the truth, I beg." Saeros clasped his hands together in to a ball. "Please, Felarch."

"Leave the matter in my hands, Saeros. No harm will befall us. Return to your seat."

Saeros knelt before Izuru. "Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?" Izuru's eyes, unfocused, gazed at the deck. Her lax fingers spread in her lap.

* * *

 ** _The Gorynych,_ Lysades Subsector**

It was Prince Ulthyr who accepted the encoded communique in the solar as his bondmate slept. _What news do you bring, Wayforger?_ Ulthyr drew his nightrobe around his body and sat before the swirling haze. "Speak." Ulthyr drew a hand across the fog, revealing the form of the felarch. "Felarch? I expected the wayforger." Ulthyr sat upright, stiffening at the tidings delivered by the felarch.

"By your leave, I would speak with her eminence, my prince," Derin said. "'Tis orders I seek."

Ulthyr spread his fingers over his knee, digging his nails in to the skin. "Her eminence is asleep and permits no disturbances, though I shall inform her nonetheless."

"Gratitude."

"Do not expect a forgiving response. Patience, Felarch." Ulthyr froze the image, got up and padded back to the sleeping chamber. "My love." Ulthyr slipped in to bed. "News from—"

"The felarch," Saarania murmured.

"You foresaw?" Ulthyr recoiled.

"…No." Saarania reached behind her, finding Ulthyr's neck and drawing him against her. "Just a guess."

"The wayforger met with an accident."

"So, the felarch assumes commands. This move by the ranger surprises me, Uly, but it would have occurred sooner or later." Saarania shifted on to her back.

"Do you trust the felarch to lead?"

"I trust him enough to keep the young one in line. Derin will see the task to completion. I order him to memorise then destroy the documents on the wayforger, Uly."

Ulthyr squeezed Saarania's shoulder. "This will work out, Saarania."

"Undoubtedly, Uly. I await news of the felarch's success with growing anticipation."

"Why could we have not kept the ranger as a body slave?"

"And keep her close to the children? Uly, there are times when I am grateful my thoughts are not governed by the object between my legs." Saarania grabbed at Ulthyr's groin. "The further away the ranger is, the lesser the danger she is to us and our plans."

Ulthyr winced. "Aah… Port Maw?"

"Mmm-hmm. Now, send the felarch and the half-breed away to Grendel, as far from my thoughts as is possible."

"Yes, your eminence." Ulthyr brushed against Saarania's cheek with his own and slithered from their bed, returning to Derin. "Felarch, you command now. The contents of the containers must reach the human insurgents in the slums of Grendel's capital city, Norn. Your contact is a human named Veen."

"I understand, my prince."

"Please." Ulthyr lowered his voice. "If the outcast proves herself too great a trouble to handle, abandon her and save yourselves. I am sorry you are with such ill-tempered company. Her eminence wanted her off the ship."

"Yes, my prince. If possible, I would know if this mission will be worth the cost."

Ulthyr swallowed. "Felarch, it is most important that you deliver the cargo to the humans. I cannot stress how vital that shipment is to our operations in the Gothic Sector."

"Your word, my prince."

"Good fortune walk hand-in-hand with you." Ulthyr swept the likeness of felarch away and sat back, closing his eyes. _I do not envy you, Felarch. Such a fiery temperament the Lady Numerial possesses. I fear for yours and the young one's safety._

* * *

 **Regia Barracks, Loyalist Sector, Norn**

During the brief lull in the aftermath of the afternoon parade, I sought out Lieutenant Ahern in the Officer's Billet and asked his permission to see the Medical Officer. A twenty-minute wander later, I explained my case to the MO, showed him a note from my officer, and was issued a prescription of PAP – mild pain relief in tablet-form – across the counter. "You're liable for two months' worth there, Gunner. To ingest take two with water and make sure you leave a gap of six hours between consumption."

"Thank you, sir. Oh, I'm not a…" The shutter slammed shut in my face. "…gunner." With the bottle of tablets in my pocket, I left A branch, walked across the parade-ground, and pushed through the door to the Other Ranks Billet and came face-to-face with Wyrig and Samuel. The two gunners, leaning against the paint-flecked wall, stepped towards me, both wearing grins.

"Aw, no, I 'aven't got time, lads." I sighed as the two larger men fell in on either side. "Stazak's got Drow and me on jankers, buffin' boots…"

"Nah, your boyfriend's not bailing you out, boy." Wyrig chuckled and gripped my arm. Samuel had the other.

"Oi, give over." I shook at the iron holds the gunners had me in. "What if an officer sees you, huh?"

"Nice little officer's pet you are!" Samuel slapped me on the back of the head. "C'mon, we're gonna show you where shits go."

"What d'you mean—Ow!"

"Belt up, ya foreign cunt."

Wyrig and Samuel shouted in to the gymnasium as we passed. "Kerry, Wen, get out 'ere!"

"Dunking the outsider, are we?" Kerris and Wenrok scuttled out after my two captors. "Let's 'ave a gander."

"Lads?" I twisted my head around. "Sarn't?"

"Don't you lads them, toss-arse!" Wyrig slapped me on the ear. "Just showin' the outsider where shits go."

"Aw, brilliant one, mate." A finger poked me in the spine, digging in to the scar. A growl escaped my gritted teeth, provoking a bark of laughter from Kerris.

"He poked you, wetpants!"

"I 'aven't done nothing yet." Wenrok giggled. "Maybe see how large is arsehole is?"

"Number ten, ya deviant dogger. We only shag what's willing, ain't that right, Sam?"

"Damn right, Wiry."

The gunners propelled me in to a latrine, partly flooded with water. Wenrok seized a gunner from another battery, standing before a urinal, and threw him out. "Gotta find one not flooded." Kerris kicked at a cubicle door.

"Must be a burst pipe somewhere. This school's been outta commission for years." Wenrok banged on another door. Wyrig joined him.

"Go on, son, wait over there like a good little boy." Samuel, left with me, pushed me against a sink. "Now don't you fucking move."

My breath fogged the rust-flecked taps. Grime stared up at me from the basin beneath. Sat behind the taps was a squat, rectangular bar of soap; brand-new. I lunged for the brick and spun around, striking Samuel full across the brow. "Ooh, he's done him out, he has!" Wenrok cried, seeing Samuel collapse buttocks-first in to a puddle.

"Better not drop that soap." Kerris laughed.

Wyrig pulled his head back from a stall. "Cheeky bugger… come 'ere!" Wyrig bore down on me. "See how you like it." Wyrig swung a meaty-handed blow at my head. His fist cut through the air, swiping at the space my head had occupied. I splashed away from Wyrig and past the dazed Samuel. His hand shot out and caught my ankle, bringing me down.

"Good one, Sam." Kerris hooted.

"Get his trousers off!"

"I've got a nice toilet stall all plum and ready for ya!" Wyrig got hold of my neck and dragged me backwards. A boot striking the door flung it inwards, revealing Stazak. "Shit." Wyrig let go of me and stumbled back in to a sink.

"Private, this is a Lairs matter," Stazak rolled up first one sleeve then the other. "Wait outside." I shook Samuel's restraining hand off and bolted from the latrine. _What's Stazak doing in there?_ Thumps and wails slipped out from the tiny gap underneath the door. Splashes and the whoosh of a toilet flushing brought the session to a close. As calm as he was when he entered the latrine, Stazak walked out, closing the door behind him. "On me, Private."

"Bombardier, I'm—"

"What happened in the latrine will be staying in the latrine. That clear, Private?"

"Yes, Bombardier."

"Now, I want you to start standing up for yourself. No more playing the victim. You're giving the bullies what they want. I know it's shit, but you're a grown-up, so act like one."

"I'm not Lairs though…"

"No, and you never will be. You're not dismissed either, Private, I'm ordering you on that fucking fizzer right now. Q branch, most ricky-tick. Gunner Drow is over there. You'll join him."

"Yes, Bombardier."

With water stains up my trouserlegs I stumped over to Q branch, receiving glances from logistics personnel, all finely turned out in Barrack Dress; wool jumpers, crisp Olive Grey trousers, and Stable Belts. Nobody accosted me when I traipsed past the canteen. No well-to-do officer or noncom would want anything to do with the bedraggled OR dragging himself through the History Annex. _Shit, commissar._ I made a left before my path brought me past an approaching commissar. _Bloody big cap. What's he doing here?_ I listened out for the loud squeak of leather on my tail. _Phew, he's gone_.

Q branch, set up in a storage cupboard, was overflowing with heaps of boxes containing all sorts of military paraphernalia. The quartermaster sergeant, imprisoned in his closet, snarled at me to go away when I approached. "Are you deaf, Gunner?"

"Sergeant, I'm here on a fizzer…"

" _Colour_ Sergeant, Gunner. I don't wear this skull above these stripes for a laugh!" The quartermaster sergeant got down from his stool. "'Round here, Gunner, I'm unlocking the door for you."

"Yes, Colour Sergeant. I'm a pri—" I stopped mid-sentence. _Better keep quiet about that._

"Gunner Drow, is this the individual put on a work detail with you?" The quartermaster sergeant practically barked. Art, up to his elbows in boxes, looked up from the pair of parade boots he was polishing. "Yes, Colour Sergeant, Gunner Larn and I were ordered to buff boots by our bombardier."

"Well, get on with it then. You are here until your bombardier comes to collect you. Do you understand, Gunner?"

"Yes, Colour Sergeant," I replied, not meeting the quartermaster sergeant's eye.

"Oh, and there will be no nattering either. You are here to work."

"Yes, Colour Sergeant," Art said. The quartermaster sergeant kicked a box out of his path and shut himself back inside his closet.

" _Can he hear us?_ " I mouthed, pushing a thumb at the QM's closet.

"Only if you mention drink." A grin flitted across Art's face. "I've seen behind his desk, I have. He's a right soak in off-hours, he is."

"So why we doin' these boots when all this stuff's still waiting for unboxing then?" I plonked myself down on a box opposite Art and picked up a boot. "Got a rag?"

"I dunno. D'you think they've got a clue how to run an army? No-one's got a clue. It's just all one big joke. The rear-echelon cogs and their snuffies 'aven't got a clue. They're just in it for the money, the birds, and the booze." Art placed a bottle of boot polish between us and dropped a torn-up piece of blue cloth in my lap. "And that's not countin' the commissars."

"The commissars?"

"They like their whipping boys, they do. Younger the better. You watch out there, pal."

"It's not a flattering picture, is it, Art?" I poured a dollop of polish on to the rag and got rubbing.

"Aw, I've only just scratched the surface. Now, Platis, I've never seen as big a fuck-up as that."

"You had it good on Platis. Bastille was ten years for the Vardans. I was there a month. I didn't know what was goin' on. They didn't know what was goin' on. Only thing the snuffies knew was where Mister Green was, and that was just over the horizon." I spat on the toecap. _I_ _hope this belongs to an officer._ "Cor, you bet they was waiting over there. Jolly green giants with guns and big pointy teeth."

"Erm… so what's all this then?" Art pointed at the dampness in my trousers. "You didn't fancy a swim, did you? I know them toilets are flooded but…"

"Nice crowd, your gun crew. Wyrig, Samuel, Kerris, Wenrok, those their names?"

"They didn't, did they?" Art's hands went still.

"Said they was gonna show me where shits go."

"No… well, Stazak's—"

"Stazak bailed me out. I clocked Samuel with a soap brick and I wasn't throwing hands with the others. Bang – Stazak enters and throws me out."

"You didn't see it?"

"No. I heard it good though."

"What he say?"

"Stop playing the victim and act like a grown-up. Then he sends me here."

"Alright, listen, I'll back you up in case the boys from the bog try and go ham on you again."

"Cheers for that, mate. God, I can't wait for me transfer to come through now."

"Yeah, won't be long, James. This security nonsense is gonna be a proper cushy detail compared with Platis and Bastille now."

"Was that chit-chat coming from your sewers?" The quartermaster sergeant boomed. Stepping out of his closest, the Soak's mouth flapped. "I want nothing but 'yes, Colour Sergeant, no, Colour Sergeant. I _will_ call the RSM if I hear another word."

"Colour Sergeant, we're out of boot polish." Art stood up and showed the Soak an empty bottle of polish, whilst kicking the full article at his feet out of sight.

"Then get some more."

"Colour Sergeant, Gunner Drow requests permission to get a new bottle from your stores."

The Soak squinted. "I'm going on my lunch-break. You _will_ hold fire on that request until _after_ I have returned." The Soak produced a set of keys and locked his door. "Carry out your orders, gunners. I will be back in thirty minutes." Once the Soak had rolled away, Art's blackened hands dropped the boots. "Give it a minute first. Wait till he's gone."

"Why, what you doing?"

"I'm a curious little sod. Can't help myself." Art jangled a lone key on a ring. "Picked the spare key outta the Soak's pocket, didn't I?"

"Oh, shit."

"Got a plan. Stand clear, James." Art stuck the key inside the lock and twisted. "A lock is only as strong as the door holding it is. Just lucky I had a key on me, huh?"

"What's inside 'ere then?" I followed Drow inside the Soak's lair.

"All manner of buckshee kit, that's what."

"Buckshee?"

"Stuff we ain't supposed to have." Drow slid his hand across a small green box poking out on a shelf. "Prophy… uh, I dunno what the word is. I'm grabbing a couple for when they let us out to play."

"Proph-what?"

Drow took the box down from the shelf and pulled the lid off. "Three for you and three for me." He slapped three flat, square packets of shiny foil in to my hand. "So you don't sling one up a bint by accident."

"Err…"

"S'alright, I'll sort you out when we're on the pull." Drow replaced the lid and slid the box back in to place. "Right, Soak, what else you got tucked away?" I took in the miscellany of packets, containers, and boxes of kit that was piled on shelves and in corners. The single hatch the Soak conducted his business through was left open. _No way anyone's climbing through that._

"Camos, Vibros, combat stims. This prick's been sitting on a horde."

"What you looking for, Art?"

"Aha!" Art pulled a small bottle of alcohol from underneath the Soak's counter. "Amasec. This is officer's plonk."

"Art!"

"S'alright, we're not the ones lifting this." Art placed the bottle on the counter. "I've got a plan. Help me find a sidearm."

"Do they keep firearms in 'ere?" I peeped inside the few boxes that weren't sealed. "Art?"

"Not unless Q branch was planning on selling some to the locals to make some extra wampum on the side. Oi, take this." Art dangled a leather shoulder holster next to me. Aside from the holster, the rig carried two spare pouches for magazines.

"Is this necessary?"

"I want protection if we're out on the streets. I don't trust the locals, even if we are on the east bank o' the river and it's friendly territory. Come on, James, have a rootle."

"So, what you planning on doing with the plonk then?"

"Evening inspection tonight, yeah, Sarn't gonna find this buckshee plonk in Wyrig's kit."

"That'll land him up on a firing squad, won't it? Fraud gets you shot. That's what it says in the primer."

"James, no one pays attention to what the primer says. You ever wondered when it was written, or who it was written by? Some lifer yonks ago that's never even seen a rifle range, never got his clobber dirty, and never been in a contact. Worst Wiry's gonna get is three months max in the Glasshouse. I just hope he gets transferred too. Wonder how QMS is gonna explain his non-reg plonk?"

After much poking through the Soak's horde, Art, beaming, showed off a brand-new stub pistol to me and spun it around on his forefinger. "Bloody good. Where's that holster?"

"Does it fit?"

"Standard second-line holdout gat." Art slit the tape seal of a box of ammunition with a fingernail and opened it up. "Thirteen rounds." Art popped brass slugs in to the thick magazine.

"How we carrying this stuff out then?"

"Brought my own parade boots, didn't I? I'll wear the stompers around me neck."

"Ha-ha, good one." I sniggered.

"So, you having fun yet?"

"Well, if it gets Wyrig in to trouble then yeah."

"Okay, we're done here." Art and I quickly set the goods we disturbed straight and replaced anything we had moved.

"You keeping that key?" I asked once we were back outside with the buckshee kit safely stowed inside Art's shoebox.

"Hmm, QMS will know we took the key if he can't find it. Don't reckon he's that thick. Hold on." Art made his way through the stacks of boxes and around to the open hatch. "I'll just toss it through. He'll think it fell off the peg."

"So, is that it then. What's the plan now?"

"Just carry on until Stazak comes 'round." Art ploughed through to me and sat back down. "C'mon, let's get stuck in. Might as well do a good job now."

"Ehh, yeah. I hope this stuff comes out. Don't want black fingernails on parade."

"Oh shit, yeah. Don't want to be explaining ourselves to Reimer too." Art sneered. "Eurgh, they're a right state, they are."

"Can't wait to see Wyrig's face," I muttered.

"Hah! That's the spirit, mate. Talk about getting your own back." Art laughed, catching my eye then pushing at my shoulder.

"Yeah – _oof_." I teetered on my perch, regaining balance and returning the favour, up-seating Art.

* * *

 **Arvus Lighter, Grendel Orbit**

Izuru's heartbeat thumped in her ears. Leaning over the pilot's seat, she gripped the arm so tightly the leather in her glove stretched. Beneath her hood and goggles, the breather mask sat in place. Derin and Saeros likewise wore their disguises.

" _Arvus Lighter FS-1435, your approach is unexpected. Explain your presence in this subsector."_

Derin brushed blood crystals from the transmit button. "Lighter FS-1435 responding to hail," he replied, affecting a monotone. "Our presence in Subsector Lysades, Gothic Sector is unauthorised. We number four menials of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Three living, one deceased. Our purpose is pilgrimage followed by burial of valued companion, whose home we humbly request permission to enter."

 _The wayforger's corpse may prove useful after all._ Izuru glanced back at the covered body and Saeros sitting above it. _He prays. But, to whom?_

" _Arvus Lighter FS-1435_ , _coordinates are being transmitted to your ship. Be prepared to receive a full inspection of your premises upon landing._ "

Derin held off from replying and turned to Izuru. "Can you bluff the humans?"

"Weak minds are easily swayed. Fear not."

"Lighter FS-1435 responding to hail. Received and understood, Grendel. We await the inspection. The Omnissiah protects." Derin took his finger from the transmitter and relaxed.

"You mispronounced Omnissiah."

Derin's head snapped up. "Then let us hope our presence does not draw too great a scrutiny."

 _Of all the mistakes, a mispronunciation could lead to our undoing._ Izuru dug her fingers in to her thigh. _Incompetence!_

"I heard," Saeros said. "I vow to remain silent."

"Good, then keep your mouth shut." Izuru struck the body with her foot and leant over it to drag the olive grey container down from the storage cupboard. "What secrets do you hold?" Izuru murmured.

"My lady, you may not."

"Fly the ship, Felarch." Izuru tutted. "Bother me not." The clasps came away one by one. Izuru lifted the lid and ripped out the foam inserts. Saeros darted over and picked them up. "Away!" Izuru hissed. "Away!" _I am beset on every side by ignoramuses._

"What are they?" Saeros's mouth opened. A long tube painted green sat inside the box.

"Kaela Mensha Khaine…" Izuru touched the cold steel. "Felarch, did you know?"

"Know the contents of the cases? No, I do not."

"Saeros, what do you see?"

"I do not know, my lady, but its purpose strikes me as nothing benign." Saeros backed away from the ugly tool. "It is of human origins."

"A brutal, crude weapon of war." Izuru eyed the container in the opposite rack. "My guess is that an identical article resides there."

"But what is it, my lady?"

"Slowly, piece by piece the princess's plan is revealed." Izuru tapped her chin. "Felarch, your ears."

"You should not have viewed the contents, Lady Numerial." Derin frowned. "The princess—"

"Is not here. Tell me, Felarch, if you found yourself in a position of command, why would you provide human insurgents with surface-to-air missile launchers?"

"Her eminence treats with the humans?" Saeros gasped. "Why?"

"Yours is not to question, Corsair. Only I, as an outsider, have that privilege." Izuru snatched the foam inserts from Saeros and re-arranged them over the launcher. "Civil unrest brews on Grendel, but why choose to fuel the flames on such an insignificant speck of human dirt. What has Saarania to gain from funding an insurgency?"

"Perhaps it is all a diversion, my lady?"

"Saeros, be quiet."

"No, Felarch. Speak, young one."

"Might her eminence look to draw greater security to Grendel in the hope that it may grant an opening for a raid upon an imperial base in the Gothic Sector?"

"Where. Where?"

"Port Maw?" Saeros shook his head. "I… I cannot know."

"You would need a thousand ships to even think of mounting such an incursion. The _Gorynych_ flies alone."

"Or three and a half thousand." Saeros turned pale. "Does her eminence seek to raid Port Maw?"

"We brush the planet's atmosphere, my lady. Find your seat," Derin called. Her seat vibrating beneath her, Izuru fastened her harness. "Saeros, sit!"

"I know of no bolder raid undertaken by the Void Dragons, my lady. Truly, it seems the princess gambles all in this operation."

"Cleanse your thoughts of such conjecture. We walk amongst the humans in due course." Izuru closed her eyes and shut her ears to the growing roar that encompassed the lighter's tiny structure. _Patience, patience. My time will come. With or without my companions, I will take back what is mine with bolt and blade._


	8. Chapter 8

**Regia Barracks, Loyalist Sector, Norn**

Rain lashed the windows of the gymnasium, dirty water spattering against the grimy panes. With thunder rumbling outside, the thirty men of Battery B stood beside their foldout beds and waited as Sergeant Reimer, Stazak at his heel, conducted his inspection of the gunners' kit.

"Chippy, Larn." Reimer belted out the word so fast I misheard.

"Sergeant."

"Your kit rates chippy."

 _Is that good or bad?_ I shot a glance at Stazak, keeping my head straight. At Reimer's shoulder, Stazak gave the slightest shake of his head. Directly opposite me, and behind Reimer, Wyrig snorted quietly. "How funny is it?" Reimer spun and snapped his fingers at Wyrig. "I'll make a special appointment for you, Gunner." Reimer dove in to Wyrig's kitbag. "Well. Well, well, well, Wyrig." Reimer produced the bottle and shook it. "A taste for the local plonk, have you? Come with me. Bombardier, carry on here."

"Sergeant." Wyrig, his face drained of colour, marched after the sergeant and out of the gymnasium.

"Let that be a lesson to all of you." Stazak's gaze swept the gunners, lingering upon Art and I. "You're up at zero five thirty tomorrow. You'll be receiving your orientation. Right, scratchers out, nappers down." Stazak loped out, dimming the lights as he left. _So, is that it?_ I lay down on the springy camp bed and took off my beret. _No excuse?_ Art caught my eye. He winked and leant his head back against his kitbag. _I hope that's Wyrig gone for good, or at least a while. Samuel's still here. He's a nasty one too. Still not sure about Kerris and Wenrok though._ In the corner of my eye, Samuel turned first one way then the other, finding a comfortable spot to sleep. _Is he bothered?_ The silence, broken by the few sniffles and snores, prevented me from heading over to Art and talking. _That would only look suspicious though. Can't be doing that. I'll save it for the morning._

On the cusp of sleep, one hand behind my head and the other draped across my face, I jumped at the _clack-clack_ of the door opening. Sergeant Reimer, giving the gymnasium a sweep, beckoned to me with a finger. "Larn."

"…Sergeant." I rolled from the camp bed and pattered out in to the corridor. A few heads twisted or looked up at me as I passed.

"Shut the door behind you." Reimer awaited me with folded arms.

"Sergeant." I pulled the door to and eased the push-bar in to place. _Oh, God, he knows, doesn't he? Wyrig told him it was Art and I._ My warm hands clasped one another tightly against the small of my back. My woollen shirt and vest were plastered together, sticky with sweat.

"Your extra duties and non-judicial punishment do not permit you to neglect your primary concern which, as of right now, is the proper maintenance of your kit – borrowed though I know. Do you understand, Private?"

"Yes, Sergeant." My slick hands loosened. _Was that it then? What about Wyrig?_ I bit the inside of my lower lip and held the question in. _I can't let him know._

"When you return to your billet, I want you to sort your kit out. It'll be spick and span at inspection tomorrow, won't it?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Right, off you go."

"Sergeant." I stepped back a pace, turned and headed back in to the billet, drawing the door closed, only exhaling once it had sealed. My hand, warming the steel push-bar, I leant on. The air I sucked in through my nose, filling my burning lungs. _Nearly stopped my heart there_. I touched the spot on my jacket where my drumming heart pounded. _I'd better see to my kit._

In my socks, I worked through the tangle of straps and clips on my large pack and double kidney pouches, sorting out the underwear, socks, washing and sewing kit.

"Pack it in, ya ballbag," someone grunted.

"Yeah, stow it till the morning."

"Tryin' to sleep 'ere, Cheggers."

Two pattering feet approached me from behind. "Making a right racket there, mate." Art squatted opposite me and reached for my rolled poncho. "Let's do a quick job, eh?" The corners of his eyes crinkled. A glint outside the window, far up in to the sky caught my eye. The glint became two specks of light, as if two stars fell from space on to the city. _Just a ship coming in to land. Nothing to worry about._ I paused and grinned back at Art.

* * *

 **Arvus Lighter, Grendel**

"There." Izuru leant over Derin and tapped the marker blinking upon the map. "Felarch, check your velocity. Activate the air brakes."

"Air brakes? My lady, I am certain such a cumbersome craft does not possess such surfaces," Derin snapped. "Or if it did, its operation currently eludes me."

"Well check speed nonetheless." Izuru's claws made marks upon the arm of the seat. "What foul human hive do we find ourselves drawing near to? I can barely see the ground, it is throttled by urban structures so."

"A stint in the pilot's chair perhaps, my lady?"

"I have not the time for humour, Felarch. Set us down!"

"Your words are keenly felt, my lady." Derin wiped the console down with the back of his hand. "Saeros, we are on final approach."

"Won't you sit, my lady?" Saeros tightened his harness. Izuru slammed her fist in to the back of Derin's seat and stamped over the wayforger's body, drawing her own harness across her chest. "Find your mask and don your hood. What is your name?"

"Ammos Tayne, menial of the Adeptus Mechanicus." Saeros fixed his mask in to place and raised his hood. "What is yours?" Saeros's voice came out garbled.

"Tyssa Marchent. Cult Mechanicus. And your name?" Izuru tightened the straps of her own mask.

"Locurr Indra. Cult Mechanicus," Derin replied.

"What is our business on Grendel?"

"Pilgrimage and burial of valued companion." Saeros blinked behind his mask's lenses.

"Straight from my mouth. Give further reasoning."

"My lady, we are twenty seconds out. I have us locked on approach to the coordinates the humans provided."

"Let us pray there is no welcoming committee." Izuru unzipped the holdall beside her and clipped a sheathed combat knife to the belt at her waist.

"Are we permitted to bear arms?" Saeros looked at the small-arms jumbled inside the bag.

"Bear nothing but holdout weapons on your body." Izuru drew a laspistol placed it in her lap. "Take it." She handed Saeros a spring-loaded blade and palm-sized laspistol.

"The – the humans…"

"Are easily confounded. Fear not."

"Won't they notice the blood-crystals?"

"Again, it takes little to befuddle their weak minds. Have faith, Ammos. We are the dominant species."

"Then why do we steal to this planet as thieves?" Izuru flipped the shutters on her mask down, blocking Saeros from view. _Damn him and his questions._ "Heed my words, young one. Be seen and not heard."

"Yes, T-Tyssa… Madam. Madam Marchent."

"Madam Marchent. Remember that."

"Five seconds."

"Are we received?"

"A wide landing ground approaches. There is not a soul in sight."

"We are lucky."

"There is no luck, _Ammos_. Conceal your weapons."

Saeros pulled at his harness. "…Too tight."

 _Isha, protect me for this excursion is folly._ Izuru closed her eyes and willed a soothing bubble to encapsulate her. "Touchdown."

"Ammos, make ready." Izuru popped her harness and rose. "Find a means of bearing the body. Quickly now."

"I observe three humans approaching from the north-west. Not one is armed," Derin said. "I shall remain here and ensure the ruse holds. Madam, you and Ammos must greet the humans."

"Hood up." Izuru smoothed down her robes. "Hurry, Ammos, hurry!" Saeros, his goggles riding his forehead, struggled with a foldout stretcher which had become wedged within the tight confines.

"Here." Izuru kicked at the wedged arm of the stretcher and snapped the other in to place. "Tilt it sideways then lay it on the floor. Be prepared to slide it underneath the body, which I shall lift."

"Madam." Saeros tilted the stretcher.

"Now!" Izuru heaved the blanket-covered body up, giving Saeros room to slip the stretcher underneath.

"The humans await us!"

"Then lower the ramp and we shall greet them." Izuru advanced on Saeros and raised a finger. "You will not speak."

"Yes, my lady."

"Now, take the tail. I have the head." Izuru bent her knees, kept her back straight, and lifted. _Kaela, the human night greets us with callous disdain,_ Izuru thought, _thank the Slave Machines for these eyes._ The three humans, all in one-piece boiler suits, fluorescent safety vests, and wool caps, approached the lighter's nose. At the sight of the stretcher-bound, all three quickened their pace.

"Do you need the Medicae?" one shouted.

 _What did he say?_ Izuru strained to hear over the noise of the cooling engines and the periodic thunderclaps.

"Is medical assistance required?" The first human jogged up.

"Not necessary. This is our late comrade's homecoming. We seek to bury him," Izuru replied. _Isha, I hope my Gothic holds._

"I see." The human nodded. "Right, we need to carry out an inspection of the ship's premises then, once that is done, you need to sign the paperwork to let us know we've accepted your ship in to berth. Further paperwork will follow. Is that acceptable?"

"Quite."

"Your pilot is still aboard?"

"For the moment."

"Very well. We require access…"

"Search away." Izuru's stomach flipped. All three humans took the lighter's rear ramp and climbed up inside. _You had better see the humans are satisfied, Felarch. The fewer witnesses to our pathetic incursion the better._

 _Trust the felarch, my lady. Do not drive such a wedge between us, when we are all you have. This cannot be accomplished alone. You need us._

 _And you need to learn to stay that inquisitive, overly opinionated tongue of yours, Pirate._

 _Do we wait here?_

 _Silence._ Izuru bent her knees. _Place the body on the ground. Felarch, why are you silent?_

Derin did not need to reply. The trio of humans trooped out of the lighter a scant fifteen seconds after boarding. "Sorry for the delay, Madam. We were unaware officials of the AdMech were aboard." The first one said.

"If you'll allow us, we will clean up the mess inside you ship."

"Transportation will be arranged. Have no fear, Madam, we will soon have you out of this rain."

"Gratitude. With haste!" Izuru barked. "Our masters must not be kept waiting."

 _What just happened?_

 _Observe the power our minds have over the weak, Saeros. Impressive though it is, I can think of nothing more degrading than witnessing beings scurry about like slaves._

 _Have you ever…?_

 _No. Pick up your end of the stretcher._ Izuru's gloves found the steel bars and lifted. _Nothing more than the weight of a feather. You still have some use to me, Pirate._

After twenty minutes waiting with the ramp lowered, and the wind and rain intruding, the humans returned with a tall, four-wheeled lorry. Twin headlamps shining in the darkness, the lorry trundled around the Arvus in a slow circle, stopped, and reversed up to the ramp. _Well-trained hounds._ Izuru stepped back to let a human with a bucket and sponge see to the blood. "Once task is fulfilled, return to your primary duty."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Let us see to our cargo." Derin moved past the human and plucked at the overhead containers.

"Our friend first, surely?" Izuru nodded at Saeros. "If you would take the other end?" The lorry's tailgate was lowered by one of the humans, who ushered the stretcher-bound corpse in to the covered troop bay.

"Up you go." Izuru pushed at Saeros, who hesitated before the tailgate. "Stow this safely." She passed the soaked bag containing the long-arms up to him. _And for Isha's sake, do not say either of our names aloud._ Saeros hoisted himself up and took the twin handles and slid the stretcher away from Izuru.

"Your assistance is required inside the ship." Izuru rapped out.

"Yes, Madam." The human scooted up to Derin.

"Be careful with these relics. Both profession and life will be forfeit if they sustain damage." Derin passed the human a launcher case. "When that is loaded, return for the other."

"Yes, my lord."

 _With haste_. Izuru scowled at Derin. _I can only stomach so much blind subservience. Saeros, await us inside the human vehicle._ Saeros took charge of the launcher containers and placed them both on the same bench row.

 _What is inside that compartment?_ Izuru caught a glimpse of a smaller container Derin carried himself. _I do not recall seeing it._

"If you will take us to accommodation for our kin, we would be most grateful," Derin said aloud.

"Very well, my lord." The two humans attending them made their way around to the cab and climbed in.

 _I too am unsure_. Derin set the case down, with himself between it and Izuru.

 _Felarch…_ _I would know the contents. Is it heavy? Is it explosive? Are we stumbling in to the unknown as amateurs?_ Izuru pushed off from the bench and made to step around Derin. A jolt underneath put her off-balance.

 _Please, find your seat._ Derin's arm shot out. _If you would let me, I will reveal the exact details of the mission. Sit._

 _Do not lay your hands on me, damn you, Pirate._ Izuru fell back against the bench. _The question still stands._

 _Felarch, if what you carry is dangerous, you would tell us, wouldn't you?_ Bounced around by the lorry's motion, Saeros clung on to the frame behind him. _Please let this mission not be divided by conflict. No more death._

 _Agreed. Felarch, provide us with knowledge while privacy stands with us._ Izuru raised her goggles and sat back, crossing her legs.

 _Observe._ Derin produced a tiny white object from a pocket. _Before question is asked, this was hidden amidst the wayforger's teeth._

 _A false tooth?_ Saeros leant forwards, his mouth opening and closing.

 _Listen._

 _Our objective is to deliver the launchers to an insurgent group on the western bank of the river, splitting the planet's capital city in half. Saeros, if you would come over to us._ Derin shone a diagram of the city-centre across the creased canvas. _At present, we are on the eastern bank_.

 _Who and when?_ Izuru counted the streets and bridges between the airfield and the bright, shining blip in the very centre of the western quarter.

 _Three days from now we bring the launchers to an arms dealer in the slums. His name is Veen._

 _A need to know basis._ Izuru sighed. _Why the princess could not have briefed us all in full before we landed?_ She balled her fist and thumped the bench. _Curse her and the Void Dragons!_ Izuru bent over her knees and dug her fingers into her bun and twisted it.

 _Is there anything we can…?_

 _No, Saeros, there is not._ Derin planted a hand upon Saeros's shoulder. _Leave well alone._

Her head in her hands, Izuru watched the blackened streets roll by. _What am I doing here? What am I doing here?_

* * *

 **Regia Barracks, Loyalist Sector, 08:23**

"Your attention. Though basic this information is of the utmost importance and may be vital in telling friend and foe apart out there." Major Delica aimed his laser-pointer at the map of the city displayed on the projector.

 _So this is Norn._ Luka Ahern, in the company of a dozen other officers and NCOs, sat in a large theatre – vacant save the front rows of seats occupied by the Alderians and Joparr Paras – and listened to the battalion 2IC.

"Though small enclaves exist on either side of the river, Norn can be split roughly in half. The river itself acts as the divider. On the eastern bank, colour-coded orange, the Lysades Volunteer Force controls roughly ninety per cent of the streets, so be aware that any paramilitary unit encountered on this side of the river is certain to be friendly. They, like their renegade counterparts, the Grendel Revolutionary Army on the western bank, coloured-coded green, are plainclothes militants." Delica moved his pointer to the three bridges, two road and one rail, that spanned the river. "Road and rail traffic are regulated by these three crossings. They are all that keep the secessionists and loyalists apart. Now, the barbed wire in place on both banks is to keep civilians from entering the water and swimming across. Under no circumstances must any of you enter the river. There will be no warning shots. Both the east and west side have checkpoints, which is what you'll be manning. Other assignments include mobile patrols in the loyalist sector in support of both the Adeptus Arbites, a brigade of which has been assigned to Norn, and the LVF. We are currently establishing liaison with local groups in preparation for future combined operations. That is all."

 _LVF, GRA, Arbites._ Ahern frowned at the lines he had scribbled on his notepad. _What split this city so much that armed checkpoints must keep both halves separate? How do I tell a friendly paramilitary from a hostile? Is a dull security detail really what I have spent years training for?_

Ahern tapped the nub of his pencil, driving a dot into his notepad. "Sir, I have a question…" Ahern looked up at the stage, finding it bare and the projector screen dim. "Sir…?" Ahern spun in his seat. _Shit, they've all gone. What are my orders? What am I doing?_ The subaltern slipped his notepad in to a breast pocket and pocketed his pencil. _Where's the brigade major? I need orders._ Ahern paid a visit to G branch, in a block neighbouring A branch, and asked to see the BM. In the BM's place, a GSO III officer, a captain in barrack dress, approached from the forest of subalterns seated behind desks at newly-installed cogitators. "Help you, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir, I'm Lieutenant Ahern, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment, I'm seeking orders." _Why haven't I got young Larn doing this? He's my blasted runner._ The captain swivelled around and picked out a seated subaltern. _He's explaining_. Ahern rocked on his feet and glanced at the cracked glass of a wall-mounted clock. _08:44. I need to be getting back to the platoon – no not platoon, battery!_ Ahern pinched the bridge of his nose. _We might as well be glorified infantry now. There's not a Scoba gun in sight._

"Your orders, Lieutenant _._ " The captain passed Ahern a sheet of green paper the cogitator had just spat out. "That's all."

 _Warm. The ink's still wet as well._ Ahern skim-read the miniscule black font. _Guard duty, western end of the Scorpr bridge until relief. Which bridge is that. Road or rail? There's really not much to go on here._

Sergeant Reimer, after lining us up in front of the hatch that looked inside the armoury, tapped on the steel shutters. "Corporal. Sergeant Reimer, Battery B, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment, here for issue of small-arms and ammunition."

"One moment sergeant," a voice on the other side of the shutters replied. Right behind me, Art poked me in both sides.

"Oof! Oi, c'mon, Art." I drove my elbow backwards.

" _Shuddup_." Stazak appeared beside us. "Keep your hands to yourself, Drow. Elbows in, Larn."

"Can't keep his hands off him, he can't." Samuel snorted.

"Oh yeah, where's your Wiry then?" Art hissed over my shoulder. "How's he gettin' on?"

"Aw, I knew it was you—" Samuel bared his clean white teeth.

"Sergeant!" Stazak called.

"Just a minute, Corporal." Reimer left the corporal, whom he was conferring with, and strode over. "Gunner, face the front. Straight eyes. Show me that chin."

 _He never even raised his voice._ I exchanged a look with Art, who shrugged.

"Okay, Corporal, let's have a rifle for each man in the battery and four section automatics. One magazine for each man. Hard cover and riot shields too."

"One magazine for each man?" I muttered. "What's he on about?"

"Ssh." Art pressed his thumb in to my back.

"You're not after the riot gear are you, Sergeant? The Joparr guardsmen were in here about half an hour ago and they…"

"I'm sorry, Corporal?"

"I think they might be in possession of the battalion's compliment of riot shields. I'm – I'm sorry, Sergeant."

"Okay, not to worry, we'll take the rifles and stubbers as requested and carry on with hard cover only. Alright, first gunner come forward and be issued with rifle, ammunition and hard cover. Quickly now."

 _This don't sound good_. I shuffled forwards. Each gunner that fell out carried an abnormally long ballistic rifle – an autogun – with wooden furniture. Some of the pieces were stained dark and close to black, others were near yellow. _What the hell are they? Don't we get lasguns at all?_ Balanced atop each gunner's head was an antique-looking helmet. Some were bare, showing the shiny green paint, others had camouflage, crude enough to have been applied by hand, while some bore cloth sacks and nets. The skid-lids were all held in place with a single khaki strap under the chin. _They look hideous. Not comfortable at all. Where's all the Triplexes at?_

"Samuel." Reimer's gaze followed the broad gunner. "Corporal, let's have another L4."

"I'm afraid we only had one serviceable, Sergeant." The corporal held an inventory tablet in front of him. "Joparr were here earlier…"

" _Five_ Hundred." Reimer slapped the counter and sighed. "Alright, we'll just take the one Rekyl. Gunner Samuel, step forwards."

"Rifle." The armoury corporal hooked a finger around the autogun's charging handle and drew it back. Once satisfied the chamber was clear, the corporal passed the rifle to Samuel. "Ammunition and helmet." A single loaded magazine and bare helmet were passed across the counter. Samuel replaced his beret with the helmet and, slinging his rifle, went to join Kerris and Wenrok.

"Larn, step forwards."

"Rifle." The corporal picked up one of the autoguns from a rack and brought it over. He performed the same safety check – checking the chamber was clear – then passed it to me. Fitted with wood, the worn rifle smelt of gun oil. Where every other handguard had two lozenge-shaped holes, mine had three smaller round holes and looked to have a number painted upon the stock; 13. Tape was also tied around it.

"Secure that weapon, Private," Reimer said. "It's your piece. Check it's clear."

"Sergeant." I tilted the rifle down and unfolded the charging handle. _Odd thing._

"Chamber clear?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Alright, take your ammunition and hard cover and fall out."

 _Autoguns, only one magazine, steel helmet. Why are they issuing us with such obsolete gear?_ I found a vacant spot in the hall and waited by myself for Art. _Are they nattering about me?_ I threw a few glances at Samuel, Kerris, and Wenrok. _I can't tell._

"Aw, the look on Reimer's face." Art giggled. "Bloody Joparr stealing everything."

"Pfft, first come, first serve. What's this rifle anyway? And why we only got the one mag?"

"IM 338. They give us the shit stuff PDF use 'cause there ain't no war here. It's a security action, mate. We're not s'posed to shoot unless there ain't no other option."

"But there in't PDF 'ere, are there?"

"That's why they dragged us and the Tin Men in. Look, it's not gonna be anything back-breaking. I'm gonna enjoy a bit of light duty, James. Standin' around catching the eyes o' the birds, that's my game." Art grinned. "Let's see if we can pull some bints while on duty, uh?"

"Err, yeah-yeah, sure. Whatever you say, mate." I hitched the sling of my 338 higher on the shoulder of my body armour.

"How's the fizog?"

"Uh?"

"Your nappa. Your head, mate."

"Err, feeling a little better, yeah." I tilted the brim of my steel up from where it fell over my eyes. "I dunno where you're pulling this lingo out from, Art. It's odd."

"Aah, you'll change, you'll learn eventually."

"Look lively!" Corporal Stazak announced the arrival of Lieutenant Ahern.

"We a bit short on shields, Sergeant?" Ahern passed through the crowd of gunners. "I'm not seeing too many stubbers either."

"Joparr were here earlier this morning, sir," Reimer replied. "The battery has been issued one L4 Rekyl. The rest will have to make do with rifles."

"Helmets?"

"One for each man, sir."

"Good." Ahern's roving gaze passed over me. "Today's operation has us pulling security on the western end of the Scorpr bridge. We are relieving a unit of Arbites at zero nine fifteen, twenty-five minutes from now. Carry on."

"Right, you heard the lieutenant. I want every man outside and ready to load up." Reimer clapped his hands. "Bombardiers, police your crews."

"Outside, gunners. Move out in to the yard, quick as you can." Stazak's arms wafted the air around the men of Number Four Gun.

"Shit weather last night. Glad it's cleared up," Art said to me. Jostled on both sides by shoulders, I nodded back. "Could do with some sun." The mess of khaki and OG gradually filtered inside the canvas troop compartment of the Hennus four-tonner. Rifles and the single L4 were passed up in to waiting arms. Gunners clambered inside and filled out the benches.

"Hurry-hurry!" Stazak and another bombardier shepherded the last few stragglers, Art and I included, inside the lorry.

"Feels nice havin' a gun again, don't it?" Art smacked my thigh. "Gonna score some birds, huh?"

"That _gun_ is referred to as a rifle, Drow." Stazak growled. "You'll refer to your weapon with the correct terminology."

" _Oooohhhh_." Samuel, Kerris, and Wenrok chorused. All three laughed. Sitting with my knee against the tailgate, I shrugged at Art and smiled. _Glad you're here, pal._

Chatter occupied the gunners on the outbound journey to the bridge. Art and I watched the uneven, white-washed walls and overgrown hedges drag by. _Another wreck_. I sniffed the acrid smoke blowing across the road, originating from another torched motor vehicle. _I thought this was a friendly area?_ A shrill whistle came from Samuel's mouth, his eyes fixing upon a trio of women walking along the pavement. One of them waved. "Yeah, just you wait and see what I've got lined up for you." Samuel continued to ogle the women until they were out of sight.

"Is that the run away screaming thing again, Samuel?" Art chortled. "Don't want a repeat of Haven again now, do we?"

"Hey, fuck off. I can tell ya there's not a chance in hell anyone's gonna go for a pale, gangly prick like you. Need a bit o' colour, that's what." Samuel grinned, bits of food showing in his teeth. "Right up the arse."

"You know the saying: too much meat?"

"Hey, if she's not screaming, I'm not beaming." Samuel bumped his fist against Wenrok's.

" _Hrgh_ , bet those birds were wonderin' what he tasted like." Art mimed a pair of scissors. "Slice bits off and feed 'em to the birds."

"Slice that beak o' yours off, Drow."

"Beak?!" Art squawked.

"Oh! Something just hit me." Kerris cried. "Hit my back."

"Who's chucking stuff at us?" Art poked his head out of the back. "It's bloody kids!" A gang of youths spilled out from an alley and gave chase to us, lobbing stones and bits of brick, all the while screaming insults.

"Lower that rifle, Drow!" Stazak shouted.

"I was gonna send 'em runnin', Bombardier."

"No you flamin' well weren't."

"C'mon, Art, they're just kids," I said, my rifle clamped between my knees. "They don't know any better."

"Oi, you can shuddup, Outsider, nobody said a fucking thing to you," Samuel spat.

"Don't listen to him." Art rolled his eyes. "Twat."

Our pursuers fell away once we were through a nest of concrete barricades, barbed wire, and towers guarding the eastern end of the Scorpr bridge. Manning the checkpoint were other grunts in Olive Grey, who wore khaki berets. Every man carried the same long-barrelled autogun as we did.

"Oh shit, we're 'ere already." Art grasped the overhead frame and twisted his head around. "Right bloody murk that looks down there. Wouldn't want to swim in it."

"Barbed wire and all…" I spotted the steel bushes separating the raised road from the mud at the water's edge. All along the waterfront coils were laid. _Maybe mines too?_ From my tail-end spot I could see the western bank roll in to view. _Looks just about identical. So, is that enemy territory then?_ A jolt bucked the lorry. "Pothole, boys. Calm down." Stazak's voice rose over the clamour of curse-words pouring from the gunners' mouths. Another disruption, this one a swerve, and we stopped. A pair of doors slammed and Reimer dashed around to us. "Debus."

"Quickly, boys!" Ahern's voice, higher-pitched than Reimer's, called to us.

The first grunt on the ground, I glanced along the 150-yard stretch of bridge then turned my back on the east. _Oh, shit._ The rubber soles of my boots glued themselves to the asphalt. Art's hand propelled me forwards. "C'mon, James."

A flotilla of parked Sixers, all painted white and decorated with a black fist gripping a pair of scales, sat with their noses facing us. Beyond them, a single row of sandbags, waist-height, protected a squadron of Tin Men armed with tower shields, stout mauls, and chunky shotguns. They stared down the tumble-down hovels, many stacked one on top of the other, that made up the Secessionist sector. _Is that a hive?_ I squinted up at the eight and nine-storey habs. Dozens of chimneys, many skewed and belching smoke, jutted from walls and roofs. _There's people up there._

"Eyes straight and level, Larn," Stazak muttered. "Tin Men won't be hanging around here for long." The mob of gunners milled around the lorry as Lieutenant Ahern and Sergeant Reimer went to speak with the leader of the Tin Men.

"Right cheery lot, the Potheads." Art planted the butt of his 338 on the ground and leant on the muzzle.

"Yeah." Blank visors obscured the Tin Men's faces. Thin, hard lines crossed their jaws. Black stubble covered the Arbites commander's jaw. Yellow teeth showed when he spoke. " _Eurgh_."

"PICK!"

Art and I ducked our heads. "Bombardier, you scared the shit outta me!" Art gasped.

"Drow, pick up your rifle and hold it as you were instructed. Larn, unsling your rifle and carry it in your firing hand. And don't you dare touch that trigger."

"Yes, Bombardier." Drow propped his butt against his hip and held his rifle with the muzzle pointed skywards.

"Your firing hand, Larn."

"Err, this… this is my firing hand, Bombardier." I adopted the same carry as Art, only with my left hand holding my 338.

"You'd better make the switch before parade, boy, or the Badge will come down on you like a tonne of bricks." Stazak glowered. Before he could berate me further, Reimer returned with Ahern.

"Alright, boys, the Tin Men are packing up and moving shop. We're stepping up here, so I want a gun crew manning the emplacement on the north side, one on the south side, another to guard the transport, and the last crew in reserve."

"That's it then." Art winked at me. "Standing 'round looking tough."

"Iggery! Move your arses." Stazak and the other bombardiers corralled and shoved the gunners behind the sandbags and around steel tank traps, all the while politely ignoring the Tin Men as they re-mounted their parked Sixers and drove off.

"Stazak, hold your gunners back for now. I'll call if we need you!"

"Right, Sergeant." Stazak called the grunts on Gun Four back to where the Hennus was parked.

"Sir, do I…?" I took a step towards Ahern.

"You – you stay with Stazak's crew for now, Private." Ahern waved me away.

"Aah, reckon he's a good sort, the lieutenant." Art leant back against the steel fence and cradled his 338 in his arms.

"S'not really what you're trained for though, is it?" I sat my buttplate on the pavement and propped an elbow on top of the railing. "Aren't you shooting down planes or something?"

"Pfft, light air defence is a bit vague. We're what Brigade wants us to be. Sorta dogsbody really." Art shook his head. "I dunno. Least we're not taking fire. I'll have this detail over any contact. Hey, you smell that?"

A procession of scarlet-clad beings moving north out of the tunnel underneath us caught my eye. "Who are they?"

"Clankers. Bloody AdMech, that's all." Art flicked a dried-up piece of snot at the chanting horde. "Nothing to do with us."

"Oi, you two! I can see a fizzer coming across the bridge and it's coming very, very fast." Stazak pounced. "Stop slacking off and act like you're blasted Guardsmen."

"Sorry, Bombardier." Art's face fell.

"Pick up those rifles."

With Stazak behind him, Art smirked. I hefted my rifle and moved out past the rear of the Hennus and over to the other gunners. The change in hands had attracted civilians in pairs and threesomes who began making cautious forays on to the road. "Girls! There's girls!" Art scampered to the forefront of the northern barricade, Samuel soon following.

"Er – Art!" I flung a glance at Stazak, who was talking with Lieutenant Ahern over by the lorry. Reimer prowled the southern barricade. "Art, we're not s'posed to go forwards." A shoulder collided with me, knocking me to one side.

"Prick." Wenrok strolled past me.

"Come on then." I shook a fist at Wenrok's back. _I banged out Samuel, I'll bang you out too._ Wenrok ignored me and made off after Art and Samuel. _Where are these women then?_ I hovered on the edge of the barricade. A gaggle of women in shawls and headscarves were gathered around the front of the sandbags, many of them holding the ends of their scarves up to their faces. "Aw, don't be shy." Samuel, his rifle slung, reached past the L4 another gunner had set up on the parapet and held out a packet of dry rations. "Got some nice scran 'ere for you, love." A hand snatched the rats.

"She's keen." Art laughed.

"Oi, how much?" Samuel made a ring with his thumb and forefinger and pushed his other forefinger through it. The result was a chorus of giggling from the women. "C'mon, how much?"

"Ha-ha, he's right forward, he is. Hey, James, c'mere. There's gotta be someone here for you." Art beckoned. Both gunners and civilians were smiling and laughing. "Seems alright this." I held back, catching sight of a ruddy-faced man trying to push his way through the people in front of the southern barricade. An arm was thrust between two gunners, as if the agitator wanted to confront Sergeant Reimer directly. Where there was one bad-tempered soul, a few more began to spring up. _Why are they all over there?_ I stared at the growing discontent spreading through the civilians around Reimer's barricade. _What's their game?_ "Oi, Kerris, I reckon it's about to kick off over there."

The gunner nearest to me, Kerris, grunted, "uh? I dunno. Who cares. We've got the firepower, they 'aven't. Let 'em riot."

 _You're bloody helpful, aren't you?_ I sauntered down to Art and tugged his sleeve. "Let's have a mo' eh?"

"That's his boyfriend that is." Samuel stuck an arm in the air and pointed downwards over Art's cover. "Taking him away for a quickie."

"Yeah. Yeah, come on, lad." I forced a grin. "Oi, it's important. Come over 'ere."

"What's the matter, James?" Art whispered.

"Can't you see it's bloody kicking off down where Reimer is?"

"Just some local louts. So what?"

"So, why's it so calm and sunshine over with you then?"

"I dunno. Hey, I'm gonna enjoy this. We're gettin' paid to have a natter with girls, James, come join us. Oi, where you going?"

"Bombardier. Sir?" I ran back to the Hennus where Ahern was still speaking with Stazak.

"Larn, what is it?" Ahern broke off immediately and signalled me closer. "Speak."

"Sir, it's kicking off down the southern barricade—"

"One or two louts, sir, nothing to worry about," Stazak butted in. "You return to where you were assigned, Private. It's not your concern."

"Sir, why's it so friendly on the north barricade then?"

"Alright, Larn, that's your second charge."

"N-no, Bombardier, I want to see what Larn's seeing." Ahern undid the flap of his pistol holster and followed. "Show me."

"Err, see the bloke mouthing off against Sergeant Reimer, sir. There's more from where he came from, sir." I pointed out the agitator, from whose mouth spittle flew.

"A few bad sorts no doubt roam the area, Private. There's no reason to take action unless we come under fire. You're not left-handed, are you?"

"Wha – err yes, sir." _Why is this such a big deal?_

"Or do you favour both hands?"

 _Why the hell does he want to know that now?_ "Sir, I'm getting a really bad feeling 'ere."

"Ha, he's brought his son along." Ahern snorted at a father placing his son up on top of the sandbags. "There's no trouble here, Private." Art waved at me to come over. "Must seem like a far cry from your old posting. Where was it again…?"

A black, cylindrical object, a blur in the corner of my eye, came sailing over the crowd. Pitched from further back, the object slapped upon the dirty asphalt and rolled in a lazy circle. Ahern's mouth opened. As he drew breath to utter a warning, I beat him to it. "ART, GEDDOWN!"

"Grenade!" Reimer bawled. His hands snatched at frozen gunners and hauled them down behind the sandbag wall.

"Bloody—!" Samuel pushed Art away, tripped backwards, and fell against the crouched L4 gunner.

"Shit!"

"Larn, get down!" Ahern's fingers brushed my sleeve. "Get away!"

"Oi, wait a minute." I made for the solitary bomb, lying in the centre of the road and dropped to the ground beside it. Only flying through the air could it have passed for live ordnance as I realised when the 'grenade' crumbled to pieces in my fingers. "Sir, sir, it's a fake!" I brandished the mock-up at Ahern, Stazak, and the other gunners, who were hiding underneath and behind the lorry. "It's not real!"

"Help!" A high-pitched voice cried. The mock-up fell from my fingers. _A bloody decoy!_ Samuel, in barging in to the L4 gunner, broke the man's grip on the weapon, which remained sitting on top of the sandbags as the gunners took cover, leaving it unattended. "Help, I can't hold it!" Art, both boots on either side of the prone Samuel, steadfastly held on to the Rekyl's wooden butt, caught up in a vicious tug-of-war with the women, who were pulling at the flash hider. "Sarn't!"

"Push that crowd back!" Reimer clocked an agitator in the temple with his rifle's buttplate. "Get up, you clots!" Startled gunners prodded and beat at any hands coming in to range.

"Sergeant!" I levelled my 338 at the veiled women. "Art, you're in the way."

"Sam, Kerris, help me." Art screeched. Against the strength of the five women, his feet left the ground and his body slithered over the parapet. "Aaargh!" A whip-crack boxed the hearing in my left ear. Stazak lowered his rifle, the smoking muzzle trained skywards.

"Hold your fire!" Reimer shouted.

"Do not fire. Do not fire." Ahern thumped Stazak on the shoulder. "Suslo, get on to HQ!" Suslo, Ahern's signaller, spoke in to his wired handset then handed it to Ahern. "Zero, sir." Stood beside the officer, I ducked as a bottle cartwheeled over our heads and smashed against the lorry. This was quickly followed by more bottles, bricks, and stones.

"I lost the gun." Art, hauled backwards by the seat of his trousers, screamed. "Sir, we lost the gun!"

"Bitches carried our L4 off, sir," Stazak snarled. "Sir, they're scarpering! What d'you want us to do?"

"Hello Zero, this is Four-One Alpha—" Ahern trailed off. I tracked the bobbing heads of the women making their way to a flight of concrete stairs that would take them underneath us and in to the crowd of Clankers.

"Stazak, Larn, get the gun. Get the fucking gun!"

"Shit it. Larn, on me." Stazak took off towards the baying mass of civilians.

"Wait, we can get down from 'ere, Bomb." I drew Stazak over to the railing Art and I had leant against. Directly underneath it was the stairs the women were fleeing down.

"Barmy. You'll snap your ankles leaping down there." Stazak shook his head. "Not a chance."

"D'you want to chance it wi' that crowd, Bomb?" I swung a leg over the railing.

"You come back with that gun or don't come back at all – _both_ rifle and Rekyl, d'you hear me?" Stazak's harsh voice receded and was lost to the brief instance of air rushing in my ears. An AdMech worker, resplendent in spotless robes, collapsed under my combined weight of belt kit, rifle, flak jacket, and the body the Crotch had issued me with, his mask smacking against the hard stone. Still fastened to my head, the inner liner of my helmet banged up and down. The steel rim shot forwards and thumped the unfortunate Clanker in the back of his skull, if it still existed. "Aargh, sorry, mate." I picked myself up from the prone body. _Lucky I managed to hold on to you._ Sharp eyes at the top of the steps found me as I scooped up my rifle. "Oh, shit." I bounded down the flight, right as a small group of youths hared down from the level above after me. _Where'd the women go?_ I plunged in to the red tide. Green-eyed monsters with shaggy beards made of cables and wires turned luminous, unblinking eyes on me. Part-mechanical, part-organic, the AdMech drones cried out, some in plain Gothic, others producing hideously distorted, rattling growls from voice-boxes grafted in to their faces. Cries further ahead gave the snatch squad away. _That's them!_ I tucked my 338's stock under my left arm and barrelled through the shambling nightmares, swiping aside a basket attached to chains a Clanker held. Scented smoke blasted up my nostrils, the rich taste sticking to my tongue and slapping my senses around. _Eurgh, what the hell was that he was wafting around?_

* * *

 **Two hours earlier…**

Within the minute Izuru desired she awoke, all weariness dissipating from her body. From where Izuru lay in the uneven, lumpy cot, she sat upright and cast her mind out to the still forms of Saeros and Derin, also in cots. _Awaken, corsairs. Cast sleep from your mind._ Derin's feet, sticking out over the rough wooden edge of the cot, drew back underneath the thin blanket. _For_ _a fleeting moment, I awoke back on the Gorynych._ Derin rolled his neck. _Then I remembered._

 _Saeros, time._ Izuru glanced at the bolted door, the only way in and out of the room. _Find your affects._

 _Must we depart so soon?_ Saeros rubbed the insides of his arms. He winced as the joints cracked.

 _To hide away is to invite suspicion. The Slave Machines will notice if we three newcomers hide away in this hovel for the next two days. No, we must find and fold ourselves in to an AdMech gathering, seen but unseen._

 _Seen but unseen. Spoken like a true ranger._

 _The lady is quite right, Saeros. We should not hide away like thieves in the night. I also advocate gathering knowledge on the surrounding area before we attempt to contact the humans. Are the packages secure?_

Izuru hauled the cot away from the wall and dug a fingernail in to the loose floorboard. _Quite safe._

 _Shall we pay our respects to our deceased comrade before departure, my lady?_

Izuru glanced at Derin. _If you must._ On unfolding her robes and donning the heavy garment, Izuru rose and snapped her fingers at Saeros. _Who are you? Why are you here?_

Saeros's hair stood on end. The tips of his ears wiggled. _Ammos Tayne, menial of the Adeptus Mechanicus_. _My purpose here is burial of valued companion, followed by pilgrimage._ Izuru lowered the accusing finger and picked up her mask. _I know I need not interrogate you_ , she said to Derin.

 _All the same, I am Locurr Indra, Cult Mechanicus._ Derin tucked his hands inside his sleeves and bowed his head. _Praise the Omnissiah._

 _Followers of the Adeptus Mechanicus only,_ read the sign hanging over the doorway leading inside the hab's damp corridors. Izuru stepped out in to the narrow street and noticed another decidedly more unpleasant inscription painted upon the door in bright white paint. _Despicable, lowborn scum unfit to look at the soles of my boots_. Izuru turned away, her nose itching underneath her mask.

Saeros, as curious as he was naïve, took a bigger interest than was necessary in the rude slur. _What does F-U-C-_

 _Saeros!_ Derin placed both hands upon the youth's shoulders and swivelled him around. _Focus mind on other matters. If you would kindly await us, my lady._

 _With haste._ Izuru leant back against a brick wall and waited for the pair to pay their final respects to the wayforger, whom they had buried discreetly in a back yard the previous night. _I am not sorry_ , Izuru said to herself. _Not for any human or Eldar that bows to the Void Dragons' command_.

 _It seems the Independents would rather they had nothing to do with the Machine Slaves._

 _Maybe._ Derin, returning, steered Saeros in to line behind Izuru. _But on the eastern bank of the river? I thought attitudes would be somewhat warmer to the AdMech here. Of course, then again nothing is as clear cut as it is usually first made out to be._

 _If there was ever a more dismal place…_ Izuru flicked up her lenses to give her eyes a clear sight of the walls and rooftops around her, many of which leaned and bulged to one side, as an overweight human's belly might. Among the tiled roofs were brick chimneys and thin, rusted pipes with conical hats and slits diverting thin trails of smoke outwards. Above everything grey clouds loomed.

 _It would most likely be across the river._

 _Our destination._ Izuru tipped her head down as the first humans passed them by on the other side of the street. _A crossing shall be sought after._ With the coming of the first hour spent wandering around, Izuru fixed her sights on a sturdy girder bridge spanning the river. Her hopes of crossing on foot were dashed when a green box on wheels, what the humans referred to as a shuttle or a train, clattered across.

 _Have you idea of how we might carry ourselves aboard such a contraption?_ The three watched the train draw across the high bridge from a road running along the waterfront. _I confess to having no idea of human norms regarding embarkation. Is there a toll we must pay?_

 _Almost without a doubt._ Izuru looked over the stone wall at the filth at the river's edge. _And we have no currency. Your wise princess did not see fit to provide us with any._ Izuru followed the coils of barbed wire with her eyes. _Barbed wire, mines in the water_ , _why go to such trouble to keep two halves of a city apart?_

 _Mines?_

 _No debate. We seek a footbridge. Follow and keep senses keen for soldiers._ Izuru passed in to the shadow of the rail bridge. The few humans about, either sitting on benches or going about their morning business paid no notice. A light covering of mist sitting upon the river soon revealed another crossing, this one a simple, two-lane road bridge. The bulbs in the streetlights, beacons in the mist, began turning off. This was of no interest to Izuru. Her pace quickened at the sight of a blood-red mob of the Machine Slaves either chanting in machine-cant or dangling burners from their hands. These burners, swinging from chains, spread a greenish cloud around. _A demonstration?_ Izuru drew nearer to the rally. _Aha, we have a way through_. The soldiers manning barricades on the bridge's eastern end had begun moving the barrier of wire back, admitting the Machine Slaves on to the bridge.

 _Caution, my lady_. Derin caught up. _We may find ingress comes easily, but egress not so._

 _No, this is our chance to gather knowledge of the western side of the city in advance. We go now or not at all. Do you wish to wander around in a threesome all day, Pirate?_ Izuru reached for Saeros and pulled him along. _Seen but unseen._

Izuru snatched looks at the thickset, ugly faces partly hidden underneath bowl-shaped helms as they followed the procession. Long, crude rifles were pointed up in to the air. Fingers remained outside triggers. Safety catches, she imagined, were on. Nobody halted the Machine Slaves or asked for identification. _And luck marches with us,_ Saeros said.

 _No, think not of such things. Nothing of the sort exists. We seized the opportunity and took action. That is how we prevail, young one. We take action._

 _I would mention the soldiers guarding the western side appear different to the humans in green we passed._

 _And I would mention, Locurr, for you to stoop. 'Tis a most alarming sight to see your head on such a proud spike._ Izuru sealed the shutters over her eyes. The strong smell made them weep. Quite right in his warning, Derin had spotted humans in metallic body armour and full-face helms that left only the mouths visible. _Slide-guns, mauls, shields. Adeptus Arbites._

 _Who?_ Saeros rose on tiptoes. Izuru pulled him back down by his elbow.

 _Look not at their faces. Do you see the symbol upon the armoured cars? The fist holding the scales? It stands for tyranny. The iron gauntlet the Human Empire holds over its denizens is total. A citizen has no rights. Understand that our fight for survival and freedom conflicts with their desire to control the life of every being from the womb to the grave. So, again, look not at their faces._

Once more, the wire was withdrawn and the procession was admitted. The leaders then made a sharp left and led their followers southwards and down stairs that led along the waterfront. _Where are they leading us?_ Saeros grasped the back of Derin's robes. _First south, now north._

 _Yours is not to reason why._ Izuru's head swivelled back and forth. _The Machine Slaves have a mind of their own now._

 _Shall we continue north, my lady?_ Derin dragged Saeros along.

 _No, let us strike south then west. I would see how extensive the human barricades are, and the general disposition of their forces._

No less prominent than the crowd that had continued north, the Slave Machines following the river south continued to moan and chant. _Must they proceed at such a crawl?_ Derin was forced to take tiny steps, lest he tear off the robes of the human-machine hybrid in front. _Are they too mourning the loss of a cohort?_

 _I would not think that individual losses meant much to this bustling mass…_ Izuru's ear pricked up.

 _I heard it too._ Derin's guiding hand brought Saeros in front of him. His other hand shot round to the back of his belt. _None of our business, my lady_.

 _No…_ Izuru listened to the echo rolling across the river. _Just the one report. Rifle-calibre._

 _Suppressing unruly inhabitants?_ Derin glanced round the teetering red figures. _I dare say this is normal for the people of Grendel._

 _Carry on regardless._ Izuru pulled her hand from where it rested upon the grip of her lasblaster. _It is no concern of ours. Let us continue._ Izuru beckoned to Derin. _Come._

 _Must we make such melodrama too?_

 _Spit on the Machine Slaves and their litanies, Saeros. Proceed quietly and calmly._ Izuru stopped and let Derin draw alongside. _When opportunity presents itself, we take action._

 _Does that mean now?_

 _Why, Felarch?_ Izuru's head snapped round.

 _Perhaps a quick step away from the river would serve us better._ Derin touched Izuru's back.

She batted his hand away and flung barbs against the outer barriers of Derin's mind. _Never, unless I grant you my permission!_

 _To avoid those humans was what I meant._

Izuru sidestepped, catching a blur of shawls and frayed scarves flying past. _What in the name of the Mother…?_

 _Petty thieves?_ Saeros shrunk back as half a dozen women burst through the crowd, scarf ends and skirts flapping.

 _Rather more so than that…_ Derin's head followed the humans' flight. Then, without a single verbal command, the women split up. Three carried on through the crowd, whilst the others diverted up a tunnel in the wall.

 _Enterprising perhaps a more appropriate term._ Izuru eyed the long automatic weapon one of the women bore in her arms. _Bold humans, very bold._

 _And the Imperial Guard gives chase._ Derin struggled to suppress a snort. _All one of them._ Howls followed the thieves' pursuer. In the same drab uniform and body armour as the men guarding the eastern end of the bridge, a lone soldier pelted on after the women along the waterfront, then careered in to a Slave Machine and ran inside the tunnel.

 _Baffling, truly baffling._

 _Why only one, Felarch?_

 _I haven't the first idea, young one. Do you, my lady? My lady…?_ Derin pivoted a full turn. _Ranger, where are you?_

 _Felarch, the humans pursue._ Saeros gripped Derin's arm. A small mob of young humans, all male, were giving chase to the lone soldier.

 _Then we must too. Though with discretion._

Izuru's feet became a blur beneath her. _Damn these robes, I can barely move!_ A memory of another world, crystal clear, surfaced and played itself out in the forefront of her mind. Platis, a line of human prisoners, bound and cut loose for sport; each one an effortless tally mark dragged at her consciousness. One face, ghostly white and without a single hair on his chin, flew rings around her. _The whelp!_ Izuru's feet carried her inside the tunnel without the felarch or Saeros noticing. To her, the sensation of plunging her knife deep inside the whelp's bony carcass superseded any vague notion of keeping her cover intact. _Let no warm thoughts carry your mind to safety, little human._ Izuru shot out in to the grey light, her eyes, ears, and nose razor-sharp. An Olive Grey shape, unmistakable, thundered down a winding street to her left then on in to an alleyway a mere fifty yards away. _Yours is to die. Mine is to carry the instrument of your destruction._


	9. Chapter 9

**Green Sector East, Norn, Grendel**

 _Cunning sods, trying to split up._

The rubber soles of my boots slapped upon the wide cobbles. At my waist, water sloshed in my canteen and my bulky respirator bounced around in its haversack. _Are those louts still on me?_ Phlegm exploded from the back of my throat. The armoured plates inside my flak vest clacked together, the weight boring red marks in to my shoulders. "Aahh, shit." I drew the canvas sling attached to my rifle over the ridge moulded in to the right shoulder of my body armour and pushed on. Muffled shrieks from the three women ahead in the alley floated back to woman clutching the Rekyl, flagging, passed the gun to one of her accomplices and took off down a different passage. A screech of steel against brick and the woman was brought to a stop. The sling had caught around a piece of jutting brick.

"Just the rifle please, miss, just the rifle," I called, reaching out to unhook the sling. "Ow!" A short metal rod pummelled the crown of my helmet. "Oi, give it a rest. I just want the rifle." I pushed the offending woman away by the shoulder. "That why you're wearin' scarves, eh, so we can't get a handle on you?"

The other woman's response was a quick jab at my side with a foldout knife. The blade pricked the cover of my flak jacket then came up short against the armour plate. "Aw, go on, hop it!" I dragged the Rekyl in to my arms. "I'll forget it if you scarper – I will!" The knife-armed woman lifted her scarf up high enough to launch a thin flurry of spittle at me and fled after her friend. _Heavy bit of kit, aren't you?_ I set the Rekyl's bipod legs upon the smooth flagstones. _Nothing bent, nothing broken?_ I wiggled the carry handle and bent low enough to put my eye to the drum sights. A white number 2 showed on the dial. _Two hundred yards? Nothing wrong there._ I looped the sling over my shoulder and hauled the Rekyl around by the carry handle. All was quiet now the women had run off. _Who the…?_

A Clanker, shrouded in a blanket of red, watched me from the mouth of a side-alley, the face nothing but a mask of cables. A pair of dirty eye-lenses glowed from underneath its hood. A second passed, then the Clanker withdrew. _Aahh_. I patted at the back of my flak jacket. My spine prickled. The fifteen-foot walls on either side of me lengthened. Before me, the alley stretched. In my mind the Clanker beckoned. _Is he trying to help?_ The Rekyl's wooden grip and carry handle warmed in my hands.

The louts spilled in to the alley, a whooping braggart twice my size at their head. I planted the Rekyl's bipod on the stone and unfolded the charging handle. The _click-clack_ halted the headlong rush so fast the louts piled up against one another. I thumbed the weapon's selector to 'repetition'. That third click sent the louts back the way they had come, each one with his tail between his legs. _Yeah, that's right._ I tugged the sling over my left shoulder and set off at a jog. _Where are you then?_ I pushed the Rekyl's muzzle in to the alley the Clanker had vanished down. _Come on, poke your head out. See what happens._ The rugged brick gave way to corrugated iron sheets a little way further down. No openings or gateways were visible. _He'll have run the whole length then._ A sticky sweat had built up inside my helmet. Both shoulders complained at the weight of rifle and stubber. These trivial matters were then kicked out of the spotlight, when I withdrew from the side alley and returned to the main branch to double back towards the river.

The red figure waited. Underneath the hem of its robes, black boots, spread wide, protruded; the toecaps ever so slightly pointed. Within the depths of its hood, twin lights glinted. A tide of gooseflesh rippled across my body. From my toes to my ears, each and every hair stood on end. My forefinger hooked around the Rekyl's trigger. Silence fell upon the passage. The soles of my boots refused to budge from the flagstones. _Run_.

 _Stand._

Not a sound came from the figure in red. A foreign presence wormed its way inside my head, the voice oozing over my familiar murmur of reason and common sense; drowning it. _Who are—?_ The lid slammed down, silencing my consciousness and seizing it in cold talons.

 _Lay down your weapons and walk towards me._

 _I don't want to._ Razorblades nicked the outer layers of my mind. _I don't want to!_ 338 and Rekyl leant against the wall and sat upon the ground respectively. _Wait, my rifle!_ My hands clasped at thin air. The scuffed toecaps of my boots shuffled forwards. _Who are you?_

A blade, wicked-sharp, slid from the figure's sleeve. The hood dipped downwards, hiding the figure's mask. Held at its side, the point turned towards me. _Why are you doing this?_

The spell faltered as two more Clankers in red swept in to the alley and flocked to their cohort. The taller of the two brought his hand down upon the figure's shoulder. At once, the weights dragging me forwards disappeared. " _Shit_." I turned tail and pelted back to where my rifle leant and took it. I picked the Rekyl up by the carry handle and made a turning in to an alley. _What the hell just happened to me?_

* * *

 _My lady, stop!_ Derin's mind and body struck out at Izuru. _Under no circumstances are we permitted to engage the enemy unless he engages us first!_ His hand came down upon Izuru's shoulder. _Let the soldier go!_

Saeros fell short of Izuru, the urgency in his pace falling away. _I know him…_

Izuru turned on Derin, the reversed knife in her hand flying at his neck. _No!_ Derin deflected the blade with his forearm. _Saeros, assist!_ The felarch's fingers gripped Izuru's arm and tried twisting it behind her back. _Saeros!_

Izuru's feet left the ground and rode the wall upwards. Kicking off the bricks, Izuru's body spun in the air, her legs finding Derin's head and tightening around it. Derin's knees buckled.

 _Madam, if you take this path you will never see your children alive again_. Saeros' mind made sallies against the iron walls surrounding Izuru's. With child's hands, Saeros pulled at Izuru's hood and mask. _I believed you better than this. One driven by petty vengeance is not worthy of respect._ Izuru's hood fell. Saeros hauled her head backwards, both gloves covering her eyes.

 _Listen to Saeros, Ranger. Is sense not spoken by the youth?_ Derin bucked underneath Izuru's weight. _Cease this mindless violence! You are angry, you are upset, you wish harm upon those you believe have wronged you!_ Izuru's legs twisted.

 _Stop, please, you will break his neck. Is this what you want?_ Saeros tore at the straps holding the mask to Izuru's head, pulling the thin metal off and tossing it against the wall. _I am sorry._ Saeros drew his lasblaster and pushed the muzzle against Izuru's ear.

In the distance, a rattle sounded. It was no report of an automatic weapon however but a hollow clatter as if metallic instruments were striking each other. Izuru loosened her hold on Derin, freeing his head. Saeros withdrew his lasblaster and bent down to help Derin up. _Felarch?_

 _Unhand me. What is that noise?_ Derin straightened his hood and re-seated his mask.

 _Can we leave now?_ Saeros' shaking hand tucked his lasblaster away. _The city is awakening. I can feel it_.

 _They are calling to one another._ Izuru searched about on the ground for her mask. Saeros jumped at the sound of a crack, this one a gunshot, echoing through the warren. A barrage of single shots was answered by a much deeper, laboured thump of an automatic that, even at some distance, punched at Saeros's fluttering stomach. _Not here. Please, not here_. Saeros hunched his shoulders and shivered.

 _Keep mind and body in its place, Ranger._ Derin stiffened. _The human returns!_ As precaution, Derin took hold of Izuru's forearm. _Saeros, conceal your weapon_. _Our quarrel lies elsewhere_.

The overladen soldier rushed from the alley he had not long ago fled down, his shoulder striking the wall beside him, bringing him to a halt. He tilted the brim of his helmet upwards then swung the stubber he carried in the Eldar's direction, his mouth a black hole. _Quite terrified_. Derin watched the young human bear down on them, his equipment jangling. _Without a doubt, quite young._

 _My lady, your mask_.

Fractured, Izuru's mask sat in front of her. She made no attempt to shield her face. His right forearm shaking under the weight of the stubber, the human loped up to the three. "I know you," he gasped, a slight quiver in his voice. "You're the one who killed my friends." The stainless-steel muzzle, slightly flared, tilted down to point at Izuru's face. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the muzzle.

"Our quarrel lies elsewhere, human. Yours is with your kind. Ours is with ours." Derin raised his hands slowly. Gunshot residue coated the human's hands and sleeves. Derin could smell it too. "Pass in peace. You will forget this encounter—"

"Kill me." Izuru reached out for the stubber. The human jerked it back, his lips drawing back from his teeth.

"I will forget this encounter," he replied. The moment he edged past the Eldar, he broke in to a jog.

"You godless bastard, come back here!" Izuru screamed.

"He's down 'ere!" A human voice yelled. The soldier threw a quick glance back over his shoulder and whirled round, his finger clamping down upon the stubber's trigger.

 _Cover your ears_. Derin clapped his hands over his ears and lowered his head. Ear-splitting cracks from the lead flying along the passage shut down Derin's senses momentarily. _Is this the fate I have been awarded, to die in an alley on a backwater at the hands of humans?_ Not a single scratch marked his flesh though. Everything had flown overhead. Where the human had stood, there was only a handful of shell casings. The voices of the pursuers had faded. _Let us retire with haste before the humans catch our scent_. Derin helped Saeros up. _My lady, maintain your disguise._ Izuru sneered and drew her hood over her head. _Hurry!_

Where the human took a left to return down the tunnel to the riverside, the three headed in the opposite direction, and were soon vaulting over fences and scaling walls. _Here_. Derin dropped in to a walled garden. _Down here_. Saeros and Izuru followed. _Now that you cannot be trusted…_ Derin swiped the lasblaster from Izuru's belt. _Saeros, your mind is unclouded. Tell me who that human was and why our ranger displayed such a keenness in applying her knife to him._ Derin held out his hand and waited. Izuru slapped the handle of her knife in to Derin's palm. Drawing her cloak around her, Izuru folded her arms and turned her head away; a slight pout on her lips.

 _The humans the Webway portal delivered to us, one of them escaped on Platis._ Saeros leant back against the stone and bent down to lean on his knees. _It – it was my fault, I could not bring myself to shoot one so young. I did not want infanticide on my conscience. We are not murderers. Raiders we are, but not murderers._

Derin shook his head. _Impossible, impossible! How could this very human – if he is the one you say he is – appear before us, just like that?_

 _He said – he said he knew the Lady Numerial. There can be no doubt that he spoke truth._ Saeros rubbed his sore hands together. The sleeves they protruded from were shredded from climbing over walls tipped with glass shards. _I worry he can now betray our presence_.

 _I told him to forget us. His mind will be fixed solely upon the human agitators pursuing him. Fear not, Saeros._

 _My lady, were you certain?_

 _Patience, Saeros. We shall hear her side in due course. Let tempers first cool._

 _Whelp,_ Izuru muttered to herself. For the rest of the day she said nothing more.

* * *

 _What was I supposed to forget again?_

Back on the riverside, I stood before the stone wall looking out over the river and raised myself up on tiptoes, hoping to see OG-covered heads waiting for me on top of the bridge. _Have they pulled out?_ I could see only civilians moving back and forth. _Where's the platoon gone?_

"You lost, friend?"

"OI—!" I shook the Rekyl from my shoulder and held it against my hip. A herd of civilians approached, at the front young men all taller than me.

"You bringing trouble?" A civvy raised his hands. "Alright, back away, you lot. Give him room."

"You started it." I moved to the left. Norn's rail-bridge looked promising.

"Us? We're not Graw, mate."

"Graw? What's – what's Graw?" I tracked the Rekyl across the gathering crowd.

"Oi, better come away. There's Graws on the bridge looking down on us." The civvy gestured to me. "C'mon."

"Leave him. Don't help him," a woman said.

"My son's older than him." Another shot a glare at her. "Let him through."

"Better hurry up, mate. Don't want the Graw's getting your scent."

 _These people were probably the ones shooting at me just now_. My gaze roved around the faces surrounding me. Some were blank, others inquisitive. Many looked sullen, as if they resented the military presence. _And who's this?_ I sized the larger civilian up and down. Grey-blue boiler suit. Shoulder-length brown hair. Nothing to suggest weapons on him. No bulges or protrusions. _If he's leading me in to a trap, I'm sunk. I don't think I can run much further._

"Come on, Mukka!"

"Oi, who are you. What's your name?" I batted away the hand of a child, when it brushed my sleeve. "No touchin' guns."

"I'm Risto."

"Uh?" I stuck a finger in my right ear and wiggled. Without the sling over my shoulder, the Rekyl tipped over. I caught it by the handle and drew the sling taught. "What d'you say?"

"Oh, Risto. What's your name?"

"James. James Larn." I shooed away a curious flock of children pulling at my respirator sack and canteen. "Go on, get home."

"What you doing over this side o' the river anyway. Your lot's whooping it up on the east bank."

"Uh? I dunno, I only got 'ere yesterday – where's your mum then? – these women stole our L4. I got it back then…"

"Then?" Risto stopped. "A Graw snatch squad took your stubber?"

"Yeah. Some louts shot at me and I – I returned fire on 'em."

"Think the entire city heard that." Risto laughed.

"What happened next…?" I frowned down at the dirtied toecaps of my boots. "I was back at the river."

"Hm?"

"…No, there was something else."

"Look, I'm gonna help get you back across the river, James. I want you to promise me something though."

"Whassat?" I pushed the brim of my cover up. _Can't be making promises, I just met you._

"Don't mention me when they ask you what happened. Nobody helped you, you found your way back by yourself."

"Erm… okay, Risto."

"I've got a wife and son up in the Stonehill, James. If Graw find out I've helped a soldier, they'll kill 'em."

"Graw, what's this Graw?" My gaze flickered up to the rail bridge. The chunky supports underneath cast deep shadows, where anybody could be hiding.

"Grendel Revolutionary Army. Look basically they want the Boots and Tin Men out."

"I thought we were trying to help." I shrugged.

"Tell that to the Tin Men." Risto kicked at a bush he passed. "Night raids, daylight harassment, internment without trial – flat-footed fuckers!" Risto swooped down upon a poster partly hidden behind a mess of ivy. "Look a' this, James." Risto tore the poster down and showed it to me. A helmeted, faceless thug painted blood red and carrying a cudgel prepared to strike me from behind his raised riot shield. The background was plain white, with an equally frank slogan: PAX IMPERIALIS.

"There's your peace, James, delivered by the falling of the baton upon the body and the stamp of the boot upon the face."

"You made this poster, didn't you?"

Risto pressed the corners of the poster back in to place and tore the obscuring ivy away. "Please don't tell them I helped you. Please, I know you could run me in for that – you've got the guns and I've confessed. I'm anti-imperial and proud."

"I'm not – I'm not that person. That's not me." I swallowed. "Listen, I want to help. I just – I just want to help. I didn't want to use this L4. Look." I transferred the Rekyl to my shoulder and unslung my 338. "Let the gunners have their L4 back. I'll stick to the sidelines and watch."

"Err, guess you're one in a hundred then. All I've seen are meatheads with cudgels and cyberhounds."

"They're nothin' to do with us. We're on the cooldown from a combat deployment, that's all. I didn't ask to come sort some domestic squabble out…"

"Domestic squabble…" Risto tutted. "These troubles have been called quite a bit over these years. I've never heard anyone call it a domestic squabble."

"Well, what is it then?"

"I dunno either, only it's much, much more complicated than that." Risto shoved his hands in his pockets. "Train station's just up here. I'll pay for your ticket. It's only a short trip."

On the way up a flight of stairs, a civilian with bloodshot eyes and blooming pupils rolled in to Risto. "You want the Scura? Packet o' Mylla?"

"No thanks, Will, he doesn't do smack." Risto brushed past Will. "Easy there."

"Nice lookin' little soldja-boy…" Will burped in my face. "D'you read the papers?" He waved a rolled-up newspaper at me. "There's xenos spies lurkin' in the shadows, dontcha know!"

"S'alright, he's harmless. He likes touting his xenos conspiracy theories." Risto waited for me at the head of the stairs. "Sleep it off, yeah?"

 _Xenos._ I remembered a woman's voice calling to me. " _You godless bastard, come back here_ ," I murmured.

"What's that?" Risto turned to me.

"There's something else…" I shut my eyes. "A woman."

"A Graw? One of the snatch squad?"

"Nah, different." I pinched skin on the bridge of my nose together. "She was different."

"Chasing you?"

"Stalking me. An AdMech. But she weren't a Clanker. I saw her face."

"Describe her." Risto took a notepad from the breast pocket of his boiler suit. "I'll write it down and see if Talia can sketch her."

"Talia?"

"The missus – sorry – she's good at faces."

"Can we – can we sit down first? My legs are killin' me."

"Alright. Nowhere in the open though." Risto peered up at a tall hab-block at the end of the street.

"Why?"

"Graw likes to sling lead across the river every so often, if they see Meatheads." Risto's hand on my sleeve drew me out of the lopsided building's line of sight. "Won't stop 'em shooting down this street if they see you."

Risto and I sat on the edge of the pavement opposite the open doors leading inside the station, with us both removed from any long sightlines. With the Rekyl between my legs and my 338 held in the crook of one arm, I attracted quite a few uneasy glances from civilians, of whom there were many more on the opposite side of the street than there were ours.

"Won't people notice you talkin' to me?" I looped my 338's sling around my forearm.

"If anyone asks, I'll say I'm dealin' on the black market." Risto grinned and nodded at the onlookers. "Give me a description then."

"Erm…" I dug a hand underneath the back of my cover and rubbed my sweat-tinged hair. The words came back to me clearly, as did the near-fluent Gothic the woman spoke in. The face was there too, only it was surrounded by two other blurred beings, masked yet in the same blood red as their comrade. _No, the woman was important._ I took a clump of my hair and squeezed. _Come on, think!_

"Well come on, I can't hang round here all day."

"Pale," I blurted. "Her face was…"

"Like smashed spanners?" Risto laughed. "I can see why you don't want to remember now."

"Nah, she was…"

"Oh, the opposite? I'm likin' this…"

"Round – no heart-shaped face. Strong chin, uhh, curved nose—"

"Proper snout on her?"

"Nah, nothing like that. Gold eyes, thin eyebrows, dark hair tied back." My heart began to tremble. "Shit." I clapped my free hand against my body armour. "Shit."

"What?" The broken end of Risto's pencil stood still.

"Pointed…" I jammed my thumb and forefinger in to my eyes. " _Pointed ears_ ," I whispered.

"…Thought it was too good." Risto tore the piece of paper off and scrunched it up in to a ball. "You didn't say anything to me, James."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, Risto." I slipped the strap of my cover out from underneath my chin. "Stickie…"

" _Ssh, don't!_ " Risto slapped a palmful of credits in to my hand. "I'm in enough trouble as it is helping you now."

"Forget it, just forget it, Risto, forget me," I gabbled. "You didn't see anything and I lied to you."

"Right, fine, you have this." Risto threw the scrunched-up ball of paper at me. It hit my chest came to rest against the Rekyl's stock. "Get your arse on the train."

"Stonehill?"

" _The_ Stonehill." Risto leapt to his feet. "I've gotta run now."

"I'm gonna pay you back." I rose and picked up my weapons. "I'll pay you back…"

"Station." Risto pointed past me. "And they're definitely Graw. They'll come for you, not me!" A few men in greatcoats had appeared on a street corner and were watching us from a distance. All had their hands in their pockets.

"Uhh…" I slipped my chinstrap back in to place and hurried inside the station. Graw stood idle on the street corner, watching me. _Will they follow me across the river?_

"Um, I want to get back across the river." I pushed the whole handful of credits through the slot inside the ticket-master's booth. _Urgh, a Clanker_. A bald, grey head with the wispiest strands of hair covering the scalp poked out of what seemed to be a sustaining chamber, permanently housing the ticket-master. Aside from the crown, nose, and eyes, the Clanker was entirely mechanical. Robotic arms with spindly fingers drew the credits to a slot in a bulging belly. _Where are those Graws at?_ The toe of my boot drummed upon the smooth floor. The few civilians sitting on rickety seats were either staring at the ground, hiding behind papers, or had slipped away. _Shit, come on, come on._ I turned my thoughts to the xenos woman, the image of her made my heart turn somersaults. _Why did I describe her to Risto? I've got him in enough trouble as it is._

A flat green card spat out of a waist-high slot in the ticket-master's booth. I grabbed it and took the stairs up to the platforms two at a time. At the half turn, I caught sight of the men in greatcoats stepping across the threshold. Each still had his hands in his pockets. _They're leaving Risto be, thank the Emperor._ I barged through civilians waiting on the platform. Gasps and cries followed me. _That's feet running on the stairs!_ Further shrieks went up as Graw gained the platform. _Where's the trains?_ I banged against shoulders, forcing them aside. A quick look both ways gave me nothing. The two platforms were empty of shuttles. The western route curved away from me gently until it was out of sight. East the bridge stretched away in a straight line.

"Stop him!" somebody shouted. A shove from behind sent me sprawling on to the rails below. Rough ballast scraped my knees and hands. My cover dinged against a rail. I spat upon the reddened steel and staggered upright. Both weights I pulled along with me. Above the wobbling brim of my helmet, hands reached out to me.

"Come on, son, up you get." From the crowd, arms lifted me on to the platform and thrust my rifle at me. _Which way?_ I burrowed through the protesting crowd. Few civilians parted for me, most lashed out verbally, kicked at me, or just spat. Underneath my boots, the platform fell away to the ballast surrounding the rails. Dust blew outwards as I landed in the ballast and ran along the rails, leaving a fine trail in my wake. I spat again, this time mucus and bile splattered the ballast and rails. Shoulders, arms, knees, and back burned. Coughing, I switched my 338 for the Rekyl. A crash of feet upon stones preceded a crack and a whizz. "Fuck!" I teetered on the uneven stones and fell in to a girder and slipped behind it. A thick bar running horizontally along the bridge stopped me from finding proper cover behind the girder. Half my body, my right arm and right leg remained in the open. Loud cracks from the men's pistols slapped at my right ear. Each passing shot a giant, invisible hornet. I slid down in to a crouch and unfolded the Rekyl's bipod legs. _Safety_. I set the Rekyl to repetition and came about to plant the spikes in to the ballast. Aiming right-handed, I squinted at the running figures through the rear sights and laid the three-pronged foresight upon a Graw in a patched khaki jacket. "People…" I muttered. _They're watching like it's a bloody football game!_ "My money's on the large lads," I grunted. _Who in their sorry life is gonna bet on me?_ I cursed some more, spat, swiped the Rekyl in to my arms, and bolted. No such handicap was placed upon Graw, who kept blasting away with their pistols. _What?_ In the midst of the barrage, a rail began vibrating under my foot. "Oh no…"

The growing rattle began dislodging ballast. The miniature landslide dragged the ground away from underneath me. Chunks of the grey stone shook themselves free and slipped through gaps in the bridge. Behind me, the firing died down. Ahead, a steel wall marked with two bright, shining eyes barrelled towards me. I snatched a look at Graw. All four stood poised, ready to move in whichever direction I moved in. _No good here._ There was simply not enough space for me to stay out of the shuttle's way. _Oh no, James, what are you doing?_ My teeth rattled in their roots. First one boot then the other stepped over the bar, leaving me balancing upon the edge, with only my arms hooked around the bar keeping me from falling in to the mine-laced water below. Held in place by my boots, the Rekyl pushed at them, desperate to be carried down in to the water with the shower of ballast. I turned my head and caught a glint of a muzzle aimed at me from around a girder. The scream caught in my throat right as the bullet shot past my face. Simultaneously, the shuttle careered in the other direction. A wave of air punched me in the back, unseating one of my boots and flinging it outwards. A squeal, and sparks flew from the wheels. A second shot disrupted the air before me.

With the cyclone's passing, I opened my eyes and raised one leg over the bar. _Where's the Rekyl?_ I dragged my toecap through the ballast. Steel met steel. _Gotcha_. My hands ploughed at the dust-covered L4, and carried it off like a newborn. My boots struck the tracks, mounting the ringing steel, and carrying me onwards. _Throne, what's pushing these guys on?_ I skidded to one side. More shots rang out. _All this for a bloody stubber?_

Abruptly, the shooting faded. Obscenities echoed along the struts and girders. The opposite bank, platforms similar to the western sector, reared above me. Barbed wire fencing barred me access to the platforms, neither of which held crowds of bystanders staring at me. "Hey, anyone!"

A chunk of platform near my shoulder exploded. My knees collapsed under me. My 338 fell from my shoulder. The Rekyl slammed on to the ground.

"That's one of ours, you fool!" A faraway shriek reached me. Figures in camouflage rushed along the platform and began removing the barricades.

"Come on, get his rifle and stubber. Bring him out of there!"

"Name. Rank." A hand slapped me across my cheek. "Name and rank. Answer me!"

"Larn. I'm Lairs – Alderian Light Air Def…" I babbled. "I got the gun back."

"Right, on your feet, Larn." Hands upon my arms lifted me up.

"That's our L4. I got it back from Graw," I mumbled. My feet dragged along the platform. "Tell the lieutenant I got it back as ordered."

"Okay, pal, you're safe now."

"Right headcase thing that, running in front of a train."

"Leave it alone. Can't you see he's ballbagged."

"I'm al… I can walk." I shook free. "Just…" I unclasped my chinstrap and let my cover dangle by it. _Is that it then. I'm alright?_ I pulled at the snaps of my flak jacket and unzipped it, letting free a warm musk. _Where are we going now?_ My boots clacked upon a staircase leading down from the platform to street level where a six-wheeled armoured car and two Hennus lorries were parked and under guard. An officer wearing a black beret waved me towards one of the lorries. "Mount up, Guardsman, quick as you can. Sarn't, I need a quick run over to Regia Barracks. This gunner is returning to his unit."

"Sir."

I crawled inside the lorry and fell against the frame, stretching my legs out. "Ahh, God…" I touched the sodden material covered by my body armour.

"Bet your sick of the sight of this now." A grunt hoisted the L4 up in to the lorry and slid it over to me. "Nice one sticking it to Graw, mate. Wish I could've seen it." I waved a limp hand at the considerate grunt. _Couldn't give a shit, pal, I'm shagged._

The violent thumping in my chest gradually matched the rhythm of the moving lorry. Not even the roving packs of youths throwing stones at the Hennus disturbed me. My neck rested against the hard collar of my body armour. Arms sat limp in my lap. My legs were splayed across the compartment, with my boots planted upon the opposite bench. From inside the shoulder-bruising weight of my body armour, I brought out my egg-shaped canteen and sucked every drop of the lukewarm water out. _God, that's good._ I sat the canteen on the bench and drew my shaking hand back and let out a quiet moan. _It's okay, James, you're alright._

 _You godless bastard, come back here._

"No…" I hugged the shoulders of my flak jacket and rocked forwards. My muzzle wavered in the stickie's face, warm and eager to follow through with its thunderous stream of lead spat at Graw. Through the snaking finger of smoke, the stickie reached for the steel. _She wanted death. For me to kill her. Why?_ I found the crumpled ball of notepaper Risto threw at me inside a hip pocket and smoothed it out across my knee. _Pale, dark, strong-featured, bright eyes... perfect._ A lump ballooned in my throat. _Oh, Bull, Skargo, why'd it have to be you?_ I pressed a damp hand against my forehead and propped my elbow against my leg. _God, I should be with you all, not here being stalked by this mad stickie and shot at by civilians. Who is she and why is she here?_

The Hennus swung round, the driver braking hard enough to bring us to a stop. My cover tipped from the bench and thudded against the floor where my rifle lay next to the Rekyl. A bang came from the cab. "Debus, soldier, I'm not waiting all day!"

 _This is it. I've made it._ I hopped down in to the yard where the Joparr vehicles were parked. The same sentry – probably a different para – watched me. A glowing cigarette poking out from between his lips. _Rifle, L4, cover, canteen, and paper_. I leapt away from the reversing lorry, the only indicator being two tiny tail lights that were near-invisible during the day. _Steady on there. How's it going to look if I get run over outside the barracks?_

The Joparr sentry laughed and turned away. "Oi, lend us a smoke will ya, pal?" I limped over. "Had a right proper run around gettin' this thing back from Graw, I did."

"Uppity little shit." The Joparr laughed nonetheless. He had a brownish complexion and wore his beret in the same odd way the other paras did. "Rekyl for a Raiman – one Raiman. Trade ya."

"Not on your bloody life." I sneered. "…Do one."

"Walk away free today, boy. Next time I give you a scar to remember it." The Joparr's slant eyes narrowed. "Don't be leaving any brown footprints around the yard. I don't want to tread in any of your Alderian shit!"

 _Elitist prick._ I scowled.

"Mission accomplished, Private." A man in stripes spoke from the darkened corridor I entered. It was Reimer.

"Sarn't." _How the hell did he know I was back?_

"That's sergeant to you, Private. Be very careful who you say that to." Reimer unfolded his arms and waggled a finger at me. "I'll be having that L4 automatic now. Pass your rifle and ammunition too."

"Er, Sergeant, Lieutenant Ahern ordered Stazak and I to retrieve it…"

" _Bombardier_ Stazak is currently on light duties due to injuries sustained earlier this morning, Private. In fact, you can carry those weapons. Follow me."

 _Is that it then, no thank you, no bloody well done, Larn?_ I swallowed the snarl that rose in my throat. _I'm in enough trouble…_

Once more under Reimer's eye, I returned both my 338, the L4, and their corresponding magazines to the Armoury corporal, as well as my cover, body armour, and belt kit. "A little late this one, isn't it, Sarn't?" the corporal commented.

"I don't see any problems here, Corporal. Do you?"

"We'll see once the store's been over these weapons. Ahh, I don't like this one, he's got a nasty big chin on him."

"A lip too. Alright, you may report to Lieutenant Ahern to resume your duties at once, Private."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Beret."

"Yes, Sergeant." I produced my squished beret from the back pocket of my trousers and shaped it to my head.

"Right, off you go."

"Sergeant."

"Larn, straight to the lieutenant. You are not to deviate to the other ranks' billet. D'you understand?"

"Yes, Sergeant." My eyes fell to the floor. Inside the officer's billet, I trudged to the spare room allocate to Ahern and knocked on the door. "Should you be in here?" An officer stopped at my back. "Well stand at attention, damn you." I about-faced and stamped upon the carpet, bringing myself to attention, just as the door opened, whereupon I spun about stamped again, and stood straight in front of Lieutenant Ahern. "Sir, Private Larn reporting back to the battery commander as ordered, sir!

"Emperor's balls, Larn," Lieutenant Ahern exclaimed, blinking and shaking his head. "My runner, sir, I sent him out on an errand earlier this morning."

"I see. Well, Lieutenant, I do not like common soldiers wandering around in officer's country unsupervised. You know as well as I that they are nothing but thieves and shirkers that turn to crime unless kept on a tight leash."

"Absolutely, sir." Ahern nodded. I remained rigid and listened to the fading footsteps. "God, Larn, tell me you have it…" Ahern clasped his hands together. "Actually, come in, come in."

"Sir."

"At ease, Larn." Ahern unfolded a camp chair and sat. "Tell me…"

"Sir, both 338 and Rekyl are back in the Armoury."

Ahern flopped back in the chair and let out a slow gout of air. "Well done – _bloody_ well done, Larn. I had – I had a good feeling about you." Ahern waved a finger. "Alright, I can put that in my report. What about ammunition?"

"Sir?"

"You brought back the ammunition too, didn't you?"

"Full magazine for the 338, sir. Not a single round fired."

"Good, that makes things easier to explain."

"I… I had to shoot the L4, sir."

"How many rounds?" Ahern's face went white.

"I dunno, maybe just over two-thirds of the magazine."

"…Right, I will need you to take down your own version of the events of this morning. If you could get started on that now, and I'll have it by lunchtime, Private."

"Umm, yes, sir."

"I will warn you, there may be an investigation in to the incident. You may be called up for an interview in the near-future, so don't be alarmed."

"Sir." My shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry it had to be you, Larn." Ahern folded his arms and scratched his chin. "Stazak took a few knocks in that crowd, trying to follow you…"

"I wondered where you all went, sir. I looked for on the bridge, so I did."

"Alright, that's enough now, Private. You err – you go back to your billet." Ahern shifted his chair around far enough to face away from me. "I don't need anything else now."

"Yes, sir."

 _I've put my foot in it now. Why does it have to be this way?_ Outside the officer's billet,I laid a hand upon my stomach, nursing the gaping hole there. _Art, where's Art?_

I slunk in to the sports' annex and back to the gymnasium. Small groups of gunners sat facing one another on the camp beds, chatting, smoking, playing games, or attending to kit. My kitbag – with the name _Larn_ scrawled in black pen on the canvas – sat unopened. A few gunners glanced in my direction. Nobody called out. _Why would they? I'm the outsider. I don't belong here._ I climbed on to the bed, letting my weight stretch the fabric. Right then, I cared only that my feet were off the floor.

"Alright?" Art's blurred face hung over me. "Hellooo?"

"Urgh…" I twisted on to my side and leant on my elbow. "I fall asleep, Art?"

"Pfft, dunno, you just appeared there." Art squatted next to me. "Got a good game going on."

"Wha – hold on, I just brought the bloody L4 back. Cleaned up Ahern's mess and you're playing games!"

"Heh, speaking of mess, Snepp's getting a month of fizzers for losing the L4." Art tittered. "Maybe you get a promotion, huh?"

"Aw, thanks for the sympathy, pal." I undid the buttons and zipper on my jacket. The sleeves were covered in a thin dust and smelt of propellant. "Can't wait to get my posting."

"Well, you're back now." Art's tone changed. "Sorry, James, we had a bit of a rough wake-up on the bridge."

"They shot at me y'know."

"Well, you had it worse than us. And we ran away while you went in there alone and brought our gun back. Bloody hero."

"No, Art, I don't like that. That's not me." I hooked a finger inside my shirt collar. "Listen, I've gotta write my report."

"Report, on what?"

"Aw, don't be a thick cunt, I'm—" I broke off. My throat tightened enough to stall me mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, Art, I've had a bit of a time."

"Tell, tell."

"Mmm." I wrinkled my nose. "Later, I've gotta write this up before lunch. You got some paper I can use?"

"Err, Stazak's in charge of our admin. He's over there with the lads."

"Right." I lifted my foot and found the laces underneath my puttee. "Had enough stomping around in these…" I tugged the laces through the eyelets, loosening the tough leather enough for my foot to slide out. _Hope I haven't got blisters, they'll really do me in for the rest of the week._ "Ow."

"Hold on." Art rose, stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to Stazak.

"Art…" I watched Art jerk a thumb at me. Everybody's head turned around.

"Didn't hear him come in," Wenrok said.

"He get that stubber back?"

Stazak got up and stepped between Kerris' and Samuel's shoulders. He bore a purple mark beneath one eye and most of his right hand was in a cast. _Shit, he took a bunch of fives_.

"Tell me this weren't for nothing." Stazak waved his hand at me.

"I'm safe and sound."

"Knew I should have left you in Wyrig and Samuel's care. That bloody L4's worth more than you are—"

"Bomb, he got it back. The Rekyl and his rifle too," Art said. "James did good, huh?"

"This true?" Stazak stared down at me. "And don't interrupt me."

"Yeah, Bomb."

"Now, see, if you'd come back without it, you'd be off your feet and languishing in the Glasshouse so fast your clobber would have fallen off. I dunno what's keeping you in one piece, boy, but I'll be quite pleased seeing your back."

"Alright, Bombardier, I've got orders to write my report and I need some paper and a pencil."

"You're a grown-up… mostly. You can go find some yourself. If you can survive the Green Sector, you can find a bloody pencil and paper. Dig out, Private." Stazak stumped off back to his game.

"I'm gonna be extra nice and give you some of this." Art took a pad of drawing paper from his kitbag.

"Erm, Whassat picture there?" I glimpsed flowing hair.

"Mm, bit of a side hobby that. Not suitable for you." Art grinned.

"Not suitable for me! I'm eighteen, mate, and I've seen more combat than you."

"You 'aven't got a fucking clue, James." Art flipped some sheets over and tore a clean one out. "How many tours then? Go on." He flicked a pencil in to my lap.

"Uhh, one, I guess. Bastille innit. Bloody Butcher's Rock."

"Skagerrak. Platis." Art ticked them off on two fingers. "That's my TI."

"TI?"

"Time in – so yeah, I've got more TI than you, son. Want some char, Oppo?"

"Aw, char, give it me straight up."

"What, no milk?"

"Uhh, yeah, milk actually. I never…" I scratched my head. "Gonna have to run oppo past me again, Art."

"Buddy-buddy innit. Go on, get writing." I kicked at Art's shins as he scampered away.

" _Knob_ ," I tutted. _So, when is this from then? Before we set out, or when I left the battery?_ I pressed the nub against the paper, leaving a round indent. _I can't mention Risto and the stickie_. _I don't want them getting hurt – involved – I mean._ I bit down upon the end of the pencil. Blood warmed my cheeks. _What would Bull, Skargo, and Davir think of me? Bloody mad is what._

* * *

 **Regia Barracks, Norn, 15:49**

An aching bladder made standing up agony. _How long are they going to keep me here?_ I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and resisted scratching my groin. Art's donated woolly-pully itched my neck. Art's pair of boots, considerably cleaner than mine, he loaned to me on the condition that I spilled to him exactly what had happened after I left the battery.

"Larn, in you come."

 _Okay, how did it go again? Stamp, about-face, stamp again, and march…_

"Shut the door behind you." A staff non-commissioned officer in barrack dress stood off to one side facing two uniformed officers sitting behind a desk. One officer waited before a square tabletop cogitator, the other had a pile of papers spread out on his side of the desk. "Sit down, Private."

I took the chair in front of the desk and perched on the edge. The SNCO to the side sat down facing me and folded his arms.

"I am Captain Henniker, this is WO2 Lammert. We are here to take your statement. CS7 is here for your benefit."

 _My benefit?_ I glanced at the colour sergeant. _I don't even know who he is._

"In your own words, Private." The captain readied his pencil. The warrant officer extended his fingers to the keyboard.

"From – from when my battery left the barracks or when I left the battery at the bridge, sir?"

"In your own words, describe your participation in your battery's operation in Green Sector East, Private."

Through the stumbles and stutters, I offered a rough retelling from when I dropped from the bridge, up to when I escaped from Graw, leaving out only Risto's and the woman's involvement in the affair. None of the room's occupants made a sound. There was only the scratch of the pen upon the paper and the rapid clatter of the keys.

"Private Larn, you say you returned fire upon gunmen in the Green Sector. How many gunmen did you see, and how many rounds did you fire?"

"I… I saw six, maybe seven gunmen coming out of an alley. I stopped to check if they were armed and didn't fire until they fired at me. Sir, can I get a drink?"

"How many rounds did you fire, Private?"

"I f – I fired twenty-four rounds, sir."

"How could you have fired twenty-four rounds, Private? That exceeds the maximum capacity of your service weapon."

"I had my rifle slung, sir. I used the section automatic to defend myself."

"Were you authorised to employ an automatic weapon in an urban environment, Private?"

"I… I… I don't know, sir."

"And on the bridge, did you return fire on the four gunmen you said were pursuing you?"

"No, sir, there were large crowds of civilians on the station platforms directly in my line of fire."

"Private Larn, at any point did you receive assistance from civilian personnel?"

I looked down at my knees and answered. "No, sir."

"In your opinion were all rounds fired in accordance with the yellow card?"

My clasped hands tightened in my lap. "Sir?" _What the hell is the yellow card?_

"Were all rounds fired in accordance with the rules of engagement?"

My eyes never left the creases in my trousers. "Yes, sir."

"There are no further questions, Private. If you sign your name on the dotted line here and here, CS7 will see you out."

"Yes, sir." After signing the statement, I pushed back the chair and tugged the hem of my jumper down.

"Attention." The colour sergeant rose with me. Art's boots stamped together. I about-faced and marched through the door the colour sergeant held open for me. _What a bunch of heartless bastards. About as soulless as a stickie._

Outside the shadows had lengthened. A golden sunset tinged with pink poked over the barracks' roofs, glinting upon the sharp contours of the parked Sixers. I placed my hands in my pockets and headed in the direction of the billet.

" _Over here_."

I turned, expecting to see the sentry rolling up on me. "Hello?" A tingle danced down my spine. "Ow." I pressed my hand to my lower back. _The woman in red._

"Over here, James."

"Art?" I hunted through the fat transports and found Art sitting upon some steps behind some wheeled bins. "Mate?"

"Smoke?" Art shook a packet of cigarettes at me. "Down in the dumps, mate?"

"Just don't, Art." Art dropped a cigarette at my feet. I picked it up and blew off the dirt. "C'mon, light me."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Fucking officers…" I dipped the fag underneath a cheap lighter Art held out.

"Heh-heh, you said it."

"Just officers."

"Officers."

"I want – I want my posting out of here right now." I blew smoke from my nostrils and rubbed an eyelid. "I told the lifers lies. They came right back with some bullshit about a yellow card and rules of engagement. Who follows rules when you're in a contact? It's put as much fire downrange as possible and pummel the shit outta your target, or just bolt if your outgunned. God, I never had any problems like this on Bastille, or even in Phase One." My voice cracked. "There's enemy and there's us, Art. Here I can't tell enemy from civvy until the shooting starts—" A rising tickle in my throat brought on a fit of coughing.

Art put his arm around my head and pulled me over. "S'alright, James. You won today. Look at what you did." Art ruffled the short buzz of hair at the back of my neck. "I doubt many of us could have pulled it off. Double-hard, you are."

"So, we all just carry on like it didn't happen then? And I get a bollocking from the lifers." I rubbed at my throat.

"Well yeah, so what? It happened. You got your bundook, you did the job…"

"Aw, I'm begging you, Art." I groaned.

Art burped. "Sorry, uhh, your gat – rifle!"

"I tell you what…" I burst out laughing and wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. "That bloody L4's a pig to carry."

"You got off rounds though, didn't you?"

"I got off rounds. Hit nothing – haha. Lotta noise, nothing else." I followed the smoke trail from my cigarette rising up in to the air. Flecks of ash gathered at my feet.

"Yeah, you balls didn't get blown off by a nail bomb either."

"Weren't me balls I was worried about, mate. I was this close to becoming an OG speck on the window of a train. Not how I imagined I'd go."

Art laughed at the exhaustive account I gave him of crossing the bridge. "Hah – I'm gonna write this one down and tell my kids one day."

"Tell you what else you can take down." I gestured to Art, cigarette balanced between fingers. "Look, I trust you, Art. I want you to listen." I dropped the spent butt and crushed it underneath my heel. "'Ere." I searched inside my trouser pocket and pulled the piece of notepaper out.

"Heart-shaped face, pale, dark hair…" Art smoothed the paper upon the step. "What's that? You've scribbled on it here. Pierced ears?"

"I saw your sketches. Wondered if you could do that for me?"

"Hmm, one condition."

"Yeah?"

"I'll be having that woolly-pully and them stompers back." Art grinned.

"Okay, good one, pal."

"We'll get 'em back."

"Who, Graw?"

"Whoever started on us at the barricade. Trust me, when we bang in to the Green Sector, they won't know what hit 'em."

"Alright then, how d'you tell civvy from enemy?"

"Whoever's shooting at us is enemy."

"You can't, Art. It's just impossible. It's not just grunts against Greenskins. We've got ourselves a shit detail here and it's the lifers' fault, and the Crotch." I ground the smouldering fragments in to dust under my heel.

"I've got your back." Art's hand wrapped around mine. "Me oppo."

"Me oppo." I shook our bond gently. "'Bout time we got back I s'pose."

"Mm yeah. Race you back to the billet."

"You're bloody on!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Regia Barracks, Norn, 18:35**

The clatter of knives and forks filled the bustling hubbub of the other ranks' mess. Chatter peppered the tight-knit rows of gunners squeezed against one another on benches, digging as much with fingers as they were with cutlery. Through the open hatches, apron-clad grunts consigned to mess-duty slapped slop-filled ladles on to waiting gunners' mess trays. Flies buzzed around.

 _I know exactly how you feel, mate._ I slid my full tray along the rails, grinning to myself. _Doing the shit jobs._

Gun Four's crew: Samuel, Kerris, and Art perched on the endmost table with their identical trays of grey mush. "Sorry, mate. Umm… might need to find somewhere else," Art said.

Samuel snorted and flicked a speck of food at my jacket. Kerris ignored me and picked at his food.

"Where…?" I muttered. There wasn't a free seat in sight, just masses of dark blue berets.

"Go on, piss off, Crow." Samuel sneered.

 _Are you going to stay there with them, Art?_

"Sarn't Reimer closing fast," Kerris blurted, keeping his head down.

 _What's a non-com doing in our mess?_ I stared at the three white stripes skirting the worst of the upheave. Reimer was followed by Wenrok and Stazak. All being NCOs, they really had no business at all in the OR's mess.

"Larn. Stay." A curt Reimer said.

 _Sod, I'm not a dog._ I shifted my hands along to cooler parts of the tray. _Bloody treat me like a human being, why don't you?_

"Tonight, as we are at week's end, Gun Four has liberty. This will work on a rotation, with respective crews each having one evening's liberty per month."

"This 'cause we got the gun back, wasn't it?" Slobber dripped from Samuel's chin. "Bloody showed the Brass Hats how it's done, didn't we?" Stazak paid Samuel a blistering glare and flexed the fingers on his good hand.

"Each one of you is eligible for liberty tonight. Anyone that wishes to sit out speak to Bombardier Stazak. You'll be receiving your orientation in twenty-two minutes' time, so scarf your scran down quick as you can. That's all."

"You not coming out then, Bomb?" Kerris tried to poke at Stazak's bandaged hand.

"Got admin to do," Stazak grunted. "Emperor knows how I'm getting it done with this paw."

"Need both hands where we're going." Samuel chortled. "You heading out on the pull with us, Wen?"

"I'm game, gunners." Wenrok shrugged. "Someone's gotta keep your dicks out the wrong holes."

"Aw, you'd know about wrong holes, wouldn't you, Wen?" Art laughed through a mouthful. "Speaking of Haven…"

Samuel flicked a spoonful at Art, landing a stain on his jumper. "That's enough from you, son, save it for the pillow natter later."

"Pfft, just the skip that bit. I'm in and out like a rocket. Present the next one!" Kerris thumped his fist on the table, rattling the plates and cutlery.

"What 'bout him." Samuel jabbed his knife at me. "Tell me he's not riding with us tonight."

"Private Larn is unofficially part of Gun Four—"

"Oh what, Bomb?!"

"You heard. Don't interrupt me, Gunner. It is down to Private Larn. If he so chooses, he may head out on liberty tonight in your company."

Hands smarting from the tray, I met Art's eye. He nodded and returned to his food. "Yeah, Bombardier."

"Wiry's not happy, y'know," Samuel said. "Oi, you listening to me?"

"Larn, there's a space just down the opposite row. Scarf your dinner down and follow Gun Four out of the mess once we're done. Iggery now."

"Better pray your transfer comes through quick, Crow. Wiry's in the Glasshouse right now thinking of you."

"I'll wait for him," I retorted. _What does Crow mean?_

"Larn, go where you're told," Stazak growled. "Move it."

 _Had better food at Butcher's Rock,_ I thought, dipping my spoon underneath the grey surface once I had found a seat. Pressed in between two broad shoulders, I took down the lukewarm slop in sips, leaving only gristly dregs sitting at the bottom by the time Art and the other gunners finished up, whereupon I left my plate and followed them out of the mess.

"So, what's the…?" I caught up with Art. "What's the…?"

"Oh, that stuff they serve us?" Art scratched his cheek. "Heh, sometimes it's real meat, sometimes it's slab."

"Huh? N-no, what's Crow mean?"

"Aw, don't pay no attention to Samuel, man." Art slowed his pace. Samuel, Kerris, Wenrok, and Stazak were chatting up ahead and within earshot. "Alright, give 'em some room." Art took my arm and lowered his voice. "He's harmless without Wyrig, he is. Don't worry about Samuel, let's just have some fun tonight."

"Erm… I dunno about this, Art."

"Look, I'll talk to my mate in Stores, he'll loan you some mufti."

"You what?"

"We're out in plainclothes tonight, James. You haven't got anything else to wear, have you?"

"Just what I'm wearin' now."

"Right, I'll set you up then."

"Don't bother."

"Oh, don't be a little bitch about it. Show Samuel and that that you don't give a shit, they'll think better of you."

"I dunno 'bout that, mate."

"Well, they won't think any worse of you if you come out." Art punched my shoulder playfully. "Hey, big night tonight. Spend it with some big-breasted bint in the sack."

"Hmm." I glanced away at a radiator close to the floor. A patch of damp darkened the wall behind it. Rust coated the copper pipes.

"It's a rite of passage, pal. Better sooner than later, huh?"

"I don't – I don't want to pay, Art."

"James, you're not paying a single credit. I've got it covered."

"…Art, I didn't mean that."

"Look _come_ along, James. You might change your mind when you see the girls. It is girls, yeah…?"

I looked Art squarely in the eye. " _Yes_ , Art."

"Pfft, no problem then. Just follow me, James, I'll keep you on the straight and narrow."

* * *

Sergeant Reimer's orientation offered the five of us a choice of whorehouses and taverns in the Orange Sector, as well as providing a supply of prophylactics. "Right, I know you're all itching to get out there and stick your instruments of joy wherever they shouldn't be, but you _will_ pay attention to what I say next, gunners. Everything on the western bank – the Green Sector – is off-limits. You are out of bounds if you cross the river. Entering a building in the Orange Sector – be it a flesh-den or a hab – I have not specified on this list is out of bounds. You have been warned. It will not be me out for you in the morning but military police. They, unlike me, will not be gentle with you, so be back before reveille tomorrow. _Before_ , not after, or you _will_ be in detention for a very long time."

A foot slipped through the gap in the seat I was sitting on and kicked at me.

"Sarn't, what size are they?" Wenrok pointed at the shiny packet sitting on the table in front of Reimer.

"One last thing. Do not fall afoul of the LVF. They are plainclothes paramilitaries, so don't be alarmed if you see civilians openly carrying weapons. They are on our side. That is all you need know." Reimer slid a paper map across the table. "Be sure to orient yourself frequently using street signs and landmarks. Do not get blind drunk and – for the love of the Emperor – check your protection for damage before you use it."

"Have fun, boys." Wenrok took the map and pocketed it. "Switch to civvies and meet out in the yard in ten."

Ignoring the poke from Samuel, I followed Art to the billet and took a set of old clothes he had piled beside his kitbag. "Sorry if the sizing's not right. I didn't have time to pick and choose. Just in and out, that's it."

I picked up the jumper and trousers and sniffed. "Sure?"

"Aaah, they're nice and clean. Don't worry, James."

"Shoes?"

"Mmm, can't really help you there, pal. Doesn't matter, just wear your boots. It'll be dark. Nobody will see you."

"…Good of you."

"Uh?"

"Good of you," I said, louder.

"Ooh, something else…" Art dived in to his kitbag. "Just a quick scribble but I think it catches her. Who is she anyway? Friend of yours back on your planet?" Art passed the drawing over.

 _Yeah, that's her._ I frowned at the sketch. _Identical except the ears._

"James?" Art's hand danced in front of me. "C'mon, mate, thought I lost you there for a mo'. Pack it up, you'll be seein' her later tonight, that's for damn sure."

"What – no, no, Art, that's not…" I folded the paper in to four and tucked it in my back pocket.

"Taking it with you to the toilets?" Art laughed.

"Shut-up." I sat down on the camp bed with my back to Art, a warm rush flooding my cheeks. His hand patted my shoulder.

"Not getting out that easy, me oppo. Come on, get dressed now. Drinks and the girls are all on me tonight. That's a promise from one opposite to the other."

I rubbed a cheek and turned to look up at Art. "Opposite?"

"Oppo."

"Alright…" I gave Art a weak smile and a thumbs-up and reached for the civilian clothes.

Turned out in dark trousers and a grey jumper a few sizes too big for me, I followed Art out in to the cold night air. "There he is," Samuel crowed. "Been only waitin' half an hour." Hands on their hips, Kerris and Wenrok grinned.

"Well lead off, Lance-Jack." Art jerked his head at the open gate. "Keep us waitin' why dontcha?"

"This lance-jack outranks your OR's arse, mate." Wenrok feigned a swing at Art's head. "Bang!"

A group consisting of Wenrok, Kerris, and Samuel formed, separating itself from Art and I once we were outside the iron gates and in the street. _Glad they're happy to go ahead,_ I thought. Art's leather jacket flapped in the wind. "What the hell have you brought there?" I glimpsed a protrusion underneath Art's armpit.

"Oi, sssh! Don't need to be mouthin' off to the others now, do you?"

"Is that allowed?"

"Would you trust any one of those creeps with this?"

"I wouldn't trust you with one."

"Gunners."

Art and I froze. "Who the fu—?" Art's hand dug inside his jacket.

"Over here."

"Ma'am." I put my arm across Art's chest. "S'alright, Art, it's the lieutenant."

"The who?"

"Art." I spied the naval officer loitering in an alley on the other side of the street and led Art over. "C'mon, don't be shy."

"Says the bloke too afraid of visiting a whorehouse."

"Shush." I slapped at Art's arm and added, "don't tell her that."

"Gunners." Lieutenant Pripinec, just outside the yellow glow of a streetlamp, leant against the wall with her arms folded. She too wore plainclothes; a double-breasted jacket of waxed cotton. "Let us discuss the favour you owe me."

 _What favour?_ I shot a glance at Art. "Ma'am?"

"Now?" The colour in Art's cheeks drained. "We're just off on liberty tonight, Ma'am."

"What better occasion then, gunners?" Pripinec produced a folded note from her breast pocket and passed it to Art. "Discreetly, if you please."

"Where's that?" Art's brows knitted themselves together. "Oh, that's… on the west bank."

"What?" I look over Art's shoulder at the neat handwriting. _Exchange the envelope with the package from behind a collection of refuse containers around the back of the Saint Josemine on Vanux's Cairn._

"Where's Vanux's Cairn?"

"Umm, Ma'am, the west bank is out of bounds." Art folded the note and passed it back. "We're not allowed that side of the river."

"Well, I'm sure you will find yourself over there sometime tonight." Pripinec put her hand in to an inner pocket. "Just be aware…" Pripinec's hand shot out and formed a finger-gun, aiming first at Art then at me. "…Were I an agent of the enemy, you would both be in my custody." Art pulled back his jacket, revealing his shoulder-holster. "That's an illegal weapon there, Gunner Drow." Pripinec's hand returned to her jacket and took out an envelope tied up with string. "I'd be careful around him, Gunner Larn."

"I'm just a private, Ma'am." I shook my head. "Not Lairs."

"Well then, there will be no questions if you go missing." Pripinec pushed the envelope in to my hand, stuck her hands in her pockets and walked off. "Oh, you can pass the items on to your Lieutenant Ahern once you return."

"What does she want anyway?" I squinted at the letters. "Art, don't stare at the officer!"

"Uh?" Art blinked and shook his head. "Err, looks like we're running errands for the navy now."

"Do we have to?"

"She knows Ahern though."

"Art, she can't order us to do anything illegal. And why'd she say that we'd find ourselves over that side tonight?"

Art bit the inside of his cheek. "I think she's got a point, James. We might be finding it difficult to get some action this side o' the river."

"Huh?"

"I reckon the best places are gonna be full up. I don't want to fall drunk in to a cheap, nasty flesh den at two in the morning and wake up with a roaring rash and itch. C'mon, let's find the others fast."

Samuel, Kerris, and Wenrok hadn't waited for us at all, and were in the process of leaving the first tavern Art and I came across. "Full." Wenrok made a swiping motion at his neck as he drew the door closed behind him and hopped down a pair of rickety steps to Kerris and Samuel. The tavern was so full that civvies holding frothy mugs were lounging on a veranda outside, despite the slight nip in the air.

"Oi, there he is." Samuel pushed at Kerris. "Took him off for a quickie!"

"Where next?" Kerris shoved back at Samuel. "Wen?"

"No Joparr round here?" Art asked cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. Kerris, Wenrok, and Samuel encircled Art, blocking me out.

"Hope not. Seen any low-flying furniture?" Samuel flicked Art's ear.

"Ooh! Cheeky bastard. C'mon then." Art jabbed a finger at Samuel's eye. "Poke your bleedin' eye out."

"Oi, later, later. Let's have a couple first then find some action." Wenrok seized the top of Art's head and steered him away from Samuel. "Fighting in the street! Who d'you think you are, navy?"

"Fish-heads are well up for a bit o' buggery in the street, I hear." Kerris picked up a thin bit of wood broken from a plank and banged on an overhead sign. "Heh-heh, mind your head."

With Art folded in to the threesome, I trailed a little behind the gunners. _They haven't even touched a drop of booze yet and they're already rowdy. Is this what Guardsmen do on liberty, drink and do… other stuff?_ I pressed a hand against my aching gut. _Calm. Calm. She's on the other side of the river. She can't get me here._

* * *

 **Orange Sector, 20:23**

Once more the delicate matter of the smuggled weaponry lay in the hands of the humans who, again, were all too willing to lend their bodies to the three Eldar's cause.

"Gently." Derin rumbled. "Brother of mine, lend them your strength."

 _Speak not in Gothic to the young one, Felarch._ Izuru paid Derin a scornful look. _His mind does not appreciate the guttural utterances of the humans._

Wrapped in their AdMech robes, ranger and felarch stood well back from a wheeled transport, what the humans referred to as a lorry, and waited for the crew, with Saeros' assistance, to load the precious containers in to hidden spaces behind the crates of produce destined for the slums.

 _Order them to make haste. To tarry is to invite the attention of an Arbites patrol. No doubt their hounds are trained to sniff us out._ Izuru's gaze swept the narrow street, following the weak yellow streetlamps all the way to the end. _I have always despised anything four-legged. Beasts worse than the humans._ Bright outlines shone from the gaps between curtains in windows. It was to be expected that many human citizens would have not yet retired to their bedchambers, though there did not seem to be any form of curfew in place, despite the civil unrest.

"All done, my lord." The humans bowed to Derin once the crates were in place. "Praise the Omnissiah."

"Omnissiah be praised." Derin performed a strange gesture with his hand.

 _You made that up there and then._ A half-smile, fleeting, passed Izuru's lips. Without her mask to hide her features, Izuru had detached the goggles and wore them on her forehead underneath her hood, with a scarf concealing her lower face. _May we be away?_ _I long to turn my back upon Grendel._

 _Presently._

Izuru's ear picked up singing coming from several streets away. _Quite an unfriendly night to be engaging in frivolities. Felarch, take the cargo across the river and ensure it is stowed in a safe location for the exchange on the morrow._

 _My lady?_ Saeros leapt down from the cab of the lorry.

 _Make the crossing with us._ Derin touched Izuru's shoulder. _Pursuit of this human is on your mind, I know. Do not squander your life tearing after a being you may or may not have had a past encounter with._

Izuru pushed Derin's hand away. _The human vehicle can seat three beings, no more. I will follow in your wake. Rendezvous will be made on the western bank later tonight. Call to me and I will find you. Now be away._ Izuru drew her cloak tightly around her shoulders and folded her arms, hastening away from the felarch before he could object further.

Saeros called out to her. _Take care. Isha watch over you._

 _I need not the Mother's protection._ Izuru hunched over, adopting a slouched gait. _Not where I am going._ At the turn at the end of the street, Izuru paused. _Leave with the felarch, young one, don't you dare follow me._ But no crimson shadow appeared. The rumble and stink of the human vehicle left only silence and a fetor of exhaust, reeking of the foul black liquid the humans used as fuel.

 _At last. Let hands of mine find the soft, pale flesh of your neck, Whelp. Thy life shall falter and drain from thy body with each squeeze._ Izuru spun and made towards the murmur, casting her mind in to the roar of human consciousnesses. _You cannot hide forever._

* * *

A half-drunk bottle of Dammassine swinging at my hip, I offered Art my free hand for him to lean on. "You piddly already, Art?"

No longer able to walk in a straight line, Art wrapped an arm around my shoulders and hurled his own empty bottle over a wall. "James…" Art burped. "I don't hear you drinking."

"What's this then?" I shook the Dammassine. "I've had plenty."

"You've had 'alf a bottle."

"Ehh, maybe I want to keep a clear 'ead for the girls, eh?"

"Thought you wasn't gonna par-take?"

"I can change my mind, can't I?"

"Hah! That's more like it, James."

Still in their own little group, Samuel, Kerris, and Wenrok kicked and swore at homeless people at the side of the street, and more often than not each other. All three carried bottles. Samuel and Wenrok smoked too. "Two Wild Ambulls," Samuel exclaimed, pointing with his bottle up at a swinging sign above a doorway. "One more for the road, boys."

"Art, we're going in 'ere." I steered Art up a step and helped him in to our fourth tavern. "Can you stand alright?"

"Yeah, fine, just don't ask me to dance, 'cause I'm not kissing ya." Art leant against a doorframe and popped his bottle on the floor. "Gonna need a top-up."

"Yep." I left my Dammassine next to Art's and followed the others in.

"Joparr."

"Where?" I searched for the red berets amongst the crowded tables. _No, of course. They're not in uniform. Idiot._

"There." Art pointed at a sign nailed to the banisters of some stairs leading up to a floor overlooking us.

"Still seeing straight then?"

"Joparr Paras upstairs, other regiments downstairs, s'what it says."

"Why?" I brought Art to the bar and stood behind the other three. A crash of breaking glass was followed by a chorus of indignant bellows from the centre of the room.

"That's why." Art giggled.

Kerris ducked his head. "I dunno, I don't fancy throwing hands with Five hundred. Hard bastards, so they are. No wonder they're all upstairs."

"What was that you said about low-flying furniture?" Wenrok passed money across to the bartender.

"Low-flying glasses more like." I twisted my head around. A carpet of glass fragments coated the centre-most table. The occupants were busy sweeping the mess on to the floor. A few nursed cuts to their hands and faces. "I mean I'd rather not be pickin' glass out my face tomorrow."

"Cop that with a hangover and we're gonna be fucked for the next few days." Art passed money to Wenrok. "Same as you, mate."

"We gonna find somewhere to sit then?" Samuel sipped from the froth bubbling over the rim of his mug. His elbow smacked my arm when he passed by.

"Come on, come on, splishy-splashy." Art gestured to the bartender to hurry up.

"Give him a minute, Art," I said.

"That's – that's one for him too." Art poked me on the cheek. "See look, him."

 _God, it's chaos._ Bunched in a corner of the room with the gunners, I shielded my mug from the latest explosion of glass, courtesy of Joparr 500. _How many is that now, three?_

"Aaah, fuck!" Kerris shook his hand. A trickle of blood ran down his wrist. "Nah, fuck this. I'm done."

"Mmm." Samuel drained his mug and set it down on a shelf. "We dossing down with the bints then?"

"Hang on a tick." Wenrok and Kerris slurped their own mugs dry. "Art, Crow, we're out."

" _Crow?_ " I mouthed to Art.

"Need a piss now." Art rubbed an eye. "Err, crow? Can't read or write."

"I _can_ read and write. Pretty good for a country boy, huh?" I left my own half-full mug and guided Art through the patches of glass to the door. The gunners were waiting outside.

"C'mon put pressure on it. Squeeze it." Samuel pawed at Kerris's injured hand.

"Don't touch it!" Wenrok pushed Samuel away. "Kerry, get your arse back to barracks and see the MO. You got unlucky tonight."

"Aw, Wen!"

"See if you can find your way back. Little orienteering to clear your 'ead." Wenrok pressed a tissue against the cut on Kerris's hand. "Iggery."

"Hope you wake up with a massive itch tomorrow." Kerris glowered.

"No way to talk about your brother gunners."

"Aw, I'm talking to him, that's why." Kerris nodded at me. "Look at him, he don't deserve to go out tonight, bloody waste of space."

"Too right, pal. You run along now." Wenrok waved Kerris off. "Use the street signs like what Reimer said."

"Reimer can go do one." Kerris clutched his hand to his chest and stamped off.

"Anyway…" Wenrok placed a hand on Art's and Samuel's shoulder. "What's say we take the shuttle over the river and find a nice airy whorehouse?"

"Yeah but if we cross the river, we're not gunners, we're civvies," Samuel said. "So, let's bloody act like 'em."

"I'll help Kerris find his way back."

"Leave it, James, let's do what we came here to do." Art shook his head and beckoned. "Can't go home now, we're halfway there."

 _How could she have known we were crossing the river? How?_ I touched the bulk of the envelope tucked inside the waistband of my trousers. "Art, I've got to…"

"Yeah, me too." Art scampered over to a gutter and unzipped his trousers. "C'mon, cross swords."

"Aw, you two!" Samuel guffawed at the sight of us unloading in to the gutter; two identical streams crossing over each other and trickling down the drain.

* * *

 _All your secrets belong to me._

Izuru withdrew from the human's mind and snapped his neck, shoving the body on to the ground and rolling it over on to its back. The stench of alcohol lay heavy upon him. _No-one will mourn you, human._ Izuru held up a limp hand coated in blood that oozed from a cut. _But I seek another._

Izuru dug inside the human's jacket, finding a handful of local currency. _No weapons. Of course, you are off-duty. No need to bear arms._ Izuru wiped her hands and left the body lying in the alley. _Just a victim of a drunken brawl._

At the head of a steep set of stairs leading out on to a road, Izuru held back, keeping to the shadows. Four wandering shapes strolled about in the open at the far end of the street before disappearing down a west-facing road. _Where do you stray, humans?_ Izuru took up pursuit, extending feelers to catch the weak human minds. _Inebriated, blundering primates_. She flexed her hands, the leather in her gloves creaking. The wraithbone knife slid in and out of its sheath cleanly.

 _The river_. Izuru paid the green murk a brief glance. _You seek passage across. For what purpose?_ A drunken human peeled away from the group and faced a lamp post. _Foul. Utterly foul._ Izuru slunk in to a porch and tore her eyes from the sight. _Why initiate pursuit? Such pettiness yields no profit. Do the children matter less to you than bloody-handed revenge?_

 _I cannot, will not let this human slip through my grasp again. That he lives is an insult against me, my family, and my ancestors._ Izuru made a fist and struck her forehead. _Damn you. Damn you_.

The looted currency paid the toll, granting Izuru admittance to the shuttle. She chose to place a car between her and the soldiers, shrouding herself in her cloak, ignoring the stares passengers gave her. Izuru counted a little under four minutes between the gradual rise in motion and loss of momentum, ticking off every second in her mind. _What is that beneath me?_ Izuru shifted her heels. Both came away from the floor sticky. _How low must I sink to solve this simple matter? A being that should have died lives. The problem presents itself and I am its solution._ Izuru's hands clenched one another. A joint in her knuckles popped. The overhead lights flickered on and off at random. Shadows danced at Izuru's feet. _Is this really what you desire?_ Again, the tiny voice burrowed its way in to her thoughts. _Yes, by Khaine's blood!_ Izuru's foot quivered.

 _Have you forgotten your true purpose? To win back your children. They are the reason you skulk within this wretched hive. Never forget that!_ Izuru leant forwards and pressed her clasped hands against her forehead. _Father, I confess I no longer know where my path leads. Whether down in to darkness, or in to the light, so much confuses me. That I must do wrong to do right instils within me such pain. I fear I may no longer be worthy of the title Ranger._

Her gut wringing itself in to a knotted ball, Izuru departed the shuttle and stepped over the gap on to the platform. The crowds streamed past her. Not a soul paid her a second look. _Good, let the subterfuge play out as I intended._

* * *

Art tossing a crumpled newspaper in to my lap shook me from my daydream. Springs inside the worn seat cushion dug in to my back when I shifted my position. "Who stuffs a newspaper down the back of my seat?"

"You what?" I rubbed warmth in to my forearms and straightened out the Norn Gazette. _Eleven dead in bomb attack,_ the main headline read. _Cult rising feared_.

 _Cult?_ I looked closer at the black letters printed upon the pale green paper. Art's hand thrust against the corner, crumpling the page and ruining my view. "Looks different, don't it?"

"Huh?" I flicked at Art's wrist. "Go on, get off."

"You know different on the inside rather than on the outside." Art snorted.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me…" I folded the paper in to four and slid it in to the gap between my seat and the wall. A gap in the window frame beside me let a thin stream of cold air in to the crowded train car. _Was that just this morning?_

A scant five minutes passed before the train drew to a halt at the station. The gunners' chirpiness caused a prickle to run down my spine. _What if we run in to Graw out here?_ I crossed the gap between train and platform and looked over the faces of the civilians disembarking with me. _Or the woman._

"Lively now." Art leapt on to my back.

"Art!" My legs collapsed underneath Art's weight.

"Aw, c'mon, I want to ride you down the stairs."

Wenrok grasped Art's hair and slapped him across the chops. "Belt up, Art. I am not hauling your fat carcass out of a whore's bed at four in the morning."

"He's not getting anywhere near one at this rate." Samuel bent over his folded arms, a massive grin stretching from ear to ear. "Come on, let's find a shag."

"The Saint Josemine," I blurted.

"The what?" Wenrok unfolded his map partway down the stairs, nearly losing his balance until he barged in to Samuel.

"The Saint Josemine, it's in Vanux's Cairn."

"Err…" Wenrok spun the map around. "Hang on, that's a twenty-minute walk at least."

"I'm – I'm for that – well up for that." Art leant upon the rail overlooking the street. "Listen, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for James."

"Not this again." Samuel clattered away down the stairs.

"Doesn't matter, Art. Oi, it don't matter." I patted Art on the shoulder and left him leaning over the rail. "Give us a look, Wenrok." Wenrok held the map against his chest and spun away. "Don't be a twat!"

"Eurgh, don't be a twat." Wenrok put on a nasal voice and hopped down the steps. "C'mon, Art, bloody move your lazy arse." Wenrok pushed me along by the shoulder. "Get moving, you."

"Give us a look." I pawed at the map.

"Fuck you. Use street signs." Wenrok folded the map and stuck it inside his jacket. "Art!"

"Art?"

"Art!" Wenrok bounded up to the platform.

 _What's kept him? He's not that drunk surely._ I glanced between the head and the foot of the stairs. Samuel had gone, leaving me alone. A breeze tickled the back of my neck. Above my head, a bulb began flickering.

"…you're better off chasing after human skirts, Art." Wenrok reappeared, dragging Art behind him.

"Yeah but she had great tits." Art bounced down the stairs.

"AdMech! She was AdMech, you drunken fool. She'd 'ave electrocuted you or shoved a bolt up your arse. How many fingers am I gonna poke in your eye?"

"Err… two?"

"All of 'em if you don't belt up and shut up."

 _AdMech._

"Art's carrying a sidearm," I said.

"No, I'm not." I yanked Art's zip down, exposing the shoulder holster.

" _Hunh_." Wenrok shrugged. "Sensible."

 _Is that your response to a drunk with a gun?_ "Wenrok, take it!" I hissed.

"Knew you was a few screws loose."

"Alright…" I reached out and popped the clasp holding the stub pistol in.

Wenrok took hold of my wrist and twisted. "Nah, you're not 'aving that, Crow."

"Ow, I'm serious, Wenrok. There's a woman in AdMech clobber stalking us." I gestured to Samuel when we reached street level. Samuel turned his head and ignored me.

"Us? Great, let's bring her along, we'll take it in turns with her."

"Art, you've gotta gimme your gun."

"I can give you both." Art rolled out on to the street and lay down on his back. "Aaahh."

"Oh, get up please, Art." I seized Art's shoulders and got him in to a sitting position. "We're on a road."

"Just us two then." Wenrok sauntered off with Samuel.

"Shit, he's got the map," I muttered. "Art, please!"

"Oh, I'm going out with a bang tonight." Art gulped down air and shook his head. "Eurgh, I'm gonna give it to Wenrok with both barrels. Gissa hand 'ere, James."

"Probl'y have a little less next time, Art?" I helped Art along after Wenrok and Samuel. "Ooh, mind the curb there."

"C'mon, let's climb this mountain, you and I."

"It's a curb, mate. Lift your foot."

 _Bloody hell, I didn't realise he had that much._

"Lairs-ho!" Art shouted at the distant pair.

"Oh, ssh! Don't draw attention to us, Art. Bloody Graw round 'ere. That woman could be too. Why'd I agree to this?"

"Cause we're a sorry pair of thick cunts, too thick to do anything right unless the officers tell us what to do. Even then they're wrong, 'cause they're officers and useless."

"Okay, come on, pick it up here, Art. We're losing 'em."

"Like they give a shit."

"Like I could too, but Wenrok's got the map."

"And I've got me gun."

"…Yeah." I swiped Art's stub pistol. The restraining catch keeping it sitting within the soft leather still flapped loose. "This thing even loaded?" I hooked my forefinger around the curved trigger-guard and eased back the slide with my thumb.

"Err…"

Brass slugs looked up at me from the loaded magazine. Nothing had yet been fed in to the chamber, nor was the pistol cocked. "Yup, that is brass. I'm keeping this, Art."

"Mm-hm, play nice."

"I'll play it safe, Art. Don't want any accidents now, do we? Else the lieutenant's gonna think you did it deliberately."

"I'd never!"

"Yeah…" I slipped the handgun in to my waistband and tightened my belt. "Iggery, yeah. I want that map."

 _No street signs. Different from the east bank._ I padded up behind Wenrok and Samuel, both of whom were examining the map underneath a streetlight. "So, where we off to then? Art's dying to stretch his third leg."

"How did you become so funny, Crow?" Samuel did not look up from the map. I managed a glimpse of the street layout before Wenrok jerked the map out of view. _Not perfect, but it'll do._ I found Art leaning against a wall, staring down at a small puddle of yellow lumps on the ground.

"Got something on your chin there." I waved a finger at Art's chin. "Better wipe it off, eh?"

"Did you find out where we are?" Art's head lolled.

"Yeah, I think…" I pressed my thumbs against my temples. "…think I've got a pretty good picture."

"No street signs."

"Nah, problem there. Need a bit of dead reckoning to find Vanux's Cairn now."

"Hey, come with us to the whorehouse, at least you'll know where we are then. Maybe do our thing after we've had our money's worth."

"Art." I pressed a hand behind Art's shoulder and moved him on. "You're not doin' any o' that tonight, not in this state, mate. How's it gonna look if you throw up in bed, uh? You don't want that, and neither does she."

Art's shoulders slumped. "Oh well, maybe next month then."

"Yeah, just go easy on the drink next time." I threw a quick look behind us. _Please let me not see any red._

* * *

The green sector had reached near-shanty levels of rundown before Wenrok and Samuel finally found a place they liked the look of. _Right far cry from the houses on the east bank. At least all of them had roofs._ Many more walls bore graffiti: _LVF caused this. Sacrifice the blue skies of freedom for the grey mists of imperial rule?_ Posters here and there. _Pax Imperialis, that's one of Risto's posters._ I leant closer to the blood-red thug with the raised cudgel. _Definitely Risto_.

"So, we goin' in or what?" Art asked.

"Yeah. Yeah." I guided Art across the street towards a double door bathed in a red glow from overhead lamps. A bright neon sign with thick, jumbled letters flickered above the doorway. _The Belladonna. Wonder what that means._ I thumped upon the door. The scrape of first one then another bolt sounded from inside. "Okay, Art."

An eye appeared in the narrow crack between the doors. "You with those other two gentlemen?"

"What other two—?"

"Yeah, we are." I poked Art in the ribs.

"Just you two?"

I nodded. "Yeah, just us."

"Hang on." Chains rattled.

 _Sturdy-looking thing._ The left-side door opened in our faces. A tree-trunk leg appeared, quickly followed by an arm, a torso, and a square head topped with a grey fuzz.

"Bet he could pleasure a horse!" Art hooted. A second jab shut him up.

"Your friend looks quite the worse for wear," the human tank rumbled. "I'm not sure you'll be providing patronage here tonight."

"Oh no, I just want directions to the Saint Jos – Saint Josemine in Vanux's Cairn. I wanted to leave Art here with his mates and head off alone."

"Art, yes?" The human tank pulled the door to behind him. "Is it Art?"

"Yeah." Art tilted his head up. "Art Drow."

"Well, Art Drow, is it your intention to hire the services of a member of this establishment tonight?"

"Cor, he's well-spoken for a moving-mountain. In't he well spoken, James?"

"Please." I held up a hand to the giant. "My mate's a little off the deep end, he won't be staying 'ere long…"

"And where's your barracks?" Flint-coloured eyes sparkled.

"Err…" The giant placed his hands upon his hips.

"I dunno, we was in a school." I swallowed. "'Cross the other side o' the river."

"Your regiment?" A figure in slim-cut attire, nothing more than a silhouette, appeared behind the giant and drew his attention away from us. _What the—?_ I leant to one side and squinted at a poster pinned to a notice board at the end of the short hallway. _Join the GRA_.

My fingers found the rough contours of the stub pistol's grip.

" _James, leave it_."

"Graw's here, Art. We're off out of here now."

"Look, James, he's not gonna stab us up."

"Nah, he's gonna call his friends." I worked the pistol loose. "Shit, he's gonna call his friends."

The giant returned to us. "Enter, please."

"Oh, that was easy." Art tottered through the door. "Coming, James?"

 _I'm in for it now_. I slipped the hem of my jumper over the protrusion in my waistband and stepped inside. "Please observe the rules, gentlemen." The giant laid a sausage finger upon a bulletin board level with his breast. "Violation shall lead to permanent exclusion and the blacklist."

"Yes, sir."

"Estoc. Just Estoc, please." Estoc planted himself on one of the cushioned seats that sat on both sides of the hall. "Take your time."

 _Not going to let us out of your sight, are you_. With my back to Estoc, I pulled a face. "I'm – I'm not staying. I've gotta find Vanux's Cairn and the Saint Josemine."

"Your friend must pay if he stays," Estoc said. "Violence on the premises or out on the street will not be tolerated. I will warn you, that sidearm you carry will do little good."

 _How the hell does he know that?_ I turned my back on the list of rules. "I need to find the Saint Josemine."

Estoc linked his fingers and drew one knee up to his chest. "The Saint Josemine, I know it well. Not sure you'd want over there. It's a GRA stronghold."

"Funny where Graw pops up." My eyes flickered over to the GRA recruitment poster.

Estoc shook his head. " _Don't_ head to the Cairn. One more dead soldier only makes the Tin Men mad then that leads to doors being busted in and lots of innocents interned without trial." Estoc sighed. "Why don't you just quit? Get out of Norn, leave Grendel to sort itself out."

"We're just 'ere to help…"

"Ah, the wonders of an unscarred mind, unmuddied by drink, unclouded by lust. Truly, there is always an exception to accepted norms. One never enters a place of entertainment without sampling something, for _everybody_ likes something."

"I'm just 'ere to do a job. I'd be grateful if you'd show me where the Saint Josemine in Vanux's Cairn is. I don't want in, I want 'round the back of the building where I'm s'posed to make an exchange."

"Hmm, not so innocent after all then." Estoc raised an eyebrow. "Quite a bit more going on behind those baby-blues than I first thought."

"I'll do my thing, come back 'ere and pick Art up. Then you'll never see us again. Art?" Art lay on the couch opposite Estoc with his forearm resting over his eyes. "You alright here for the minute, Art?"

"Wake me up in the spring, James," Art croaked.

"Take it easy, mate." I clasped Art's forearm then moved over to Estoc.

"I'll run this thing down to the Josey for you." Estoc offered a hand. "No sense risking yourself, soldier."

 _Noble for a Graw._ "Now why'd I let you do a thing like that?"

"One more dead soldier is another dozen of my people thrown in the cells by your thugs. We want you out, not dead. I've seen enough violence."

"You served?"

Estoc bent down and drew up both trouserlegs, showing thick metal struts extending from his shoes, and all the way up to his thighs. "Lost too much of my life to the Guard. They're not the compensation-granting sorts. I was a slab of meat to them, and they _butchered_ me." His nose wrinkling, Estoc unrolled his trouserlegs and drew the hems over his shoes. "Don't let 'em take your body or your mind from you, soldier." Estoc's knuckles grew white. "Or your spirit. Keep that fire burnin' in you, and remember that it's not xenos or heretics or whoever that you've got to watch out for, but your own people; officers and commissars, they exist in their own world of blissful lies and ignorance. They want you dead, or in their lie."

"Who's that?" I spun round, hearing a bang on the door. "Art, wake up."

"It's alright, I know them. They work with me." Estoc stepped around me and headed for the door. "Nothing will happen to you in here, I promise."

 _Shit, they're Graw._ I perched upon the arm of the couch above Art and stared at the skirting board on the other side of the hall. Three military-aged civilians came past, two of them carrying shoulder bags. Not one paid us any attention and simply hurried off up the stairs. "What's in the bags then?"

"Gifts," Estoc replied. "Bolt the door. I'll be fifteen minutes. Don't answer it to anyone. Probably best if you stay down here too."

"Ta." I nodded at Estoc as he stepped out in to the street.

"Shut the door behind me."

From the arrangement of bolts and chains, I slid a single bar across and locked it in place. _There_. With the hall quiet, I listened to the faint laughter and moans coming from the floor above. _Is this a Graw stronghold too?_ I paused beside the GRA poster. A masked silhouette aimed an automatic rifle to the side. Beneath him, a child stood poised with an incendiary bomb. _Any age. Either gender. It's your fight, just as much as hers,_ the slogan read. I cocked my head to one side. _So, what's on Grendel the Imperium wants so badly then?_ I pushed a peeling corner back against the board. _Feels like we're kicking our way in to a hive of hornets here._

"Where d'you go, James?"

"You doss down there for now, son. I'm off for a wander."

"Bring me back a blonde, yeah, James."

"I'll find you a blonde, Art." I laughed. _You just keep quiet now. No need to let Graw know we're soldiers._

* * *

Floorboards creaked underneath my bootheels, each step upwards offering its own unique note. _Might as well be tiptoeing on glass_. I gave up on keeping silent and climbed the curving stairs up to a balcony overlooking a wide-open area strewn with couches and all manner of comfort for the local patrons. Young women, pale and dark, blonde and brunette, and all in various stages of undress, were attending to their clients. Some simply danced, others had their wide bosoms moulded around their clients' faces, a few cuddled in discreet corners. _You'd pay to do something like this?_ I touched the wooden rail and looked down upon the gathering. Grunts and groans filtered through gaps beneath doors leading off the balcony, sometimes squeals and shrieks peaked over the cavorting beneath me. _Not for me._ I circuited the first floor. Every sealed room held occupants, many uncaring of the noise they made. _Hello, this one's very quiet._ I stopped by a door on my second circuit and leant against the wall beside the frame. _No-one else around._ Closer I shifted until I could place an ear to the door. _Aah, no good. The wood's too thick._ I found a crack in the doorframe and peered through. _Now, what are you up to, Graw?_ Lit by a naked bulb dangling from a loose wire, a shoebox sat with its lid open in the centre of a square table covered in a red cloth. Two of the three GRA men stood with their backs to me, the shoebox visible between their elbows. The third Graw bent over the open box, his fingers delving inside. A fourth man, this one facing Graw at right-angles, leant forwards on his hands and pointed at the box's contents then displayed the chrono attached to his wrist. The Graw opposite glanced up and nodded. _A timepiece?_ The quick-fire thud-thud in my ears gained pace.

"You can do more than watch…"

"Oh, shi…" I grasped at my throat, drawing back from the crack. "I'm sorry." I cleared the build-up in my throat and looked down at the floor. Two rooms down, a door lay open. A woman, standing half-in half-out of her room, leant upon the frame. Dirty blonde hair hung loose down her back. Draped around her shoulders, a thin shawl covered a silken slip. "Sorry, ma'am, I'm…"

"You're with the soldier?" The woman, barefoot, stepped out on to the balcony and nodded at my feet.

"What soldier?" The moisture inside my mouth evaporated, leaving a bone-dry tongue scraping along unbrushed teeth. I planted my eye against the crack, my breath warming the wooden panel. The three GRA men remained in their previous positions, listening to the instruction given by the fourth, faceless man, who moved around the table, ending up directly opposite me. Beneath the black corduroy jacket, a maroon sweater shouted through the gap between Graw's elbows at me. The same smudge above the upper lip, the same mean little eyes, the same regulation-flouting haircut.

 _Shoulder-holster. The plainclothes officer!_

"… _What?"_ My jaw slackened. Ice slid down my back. I spun back and slapped the woman's hand away.

"What's bitten you?" The woman tugged her shawl back over her shoulder.

I dove against the panel and screwed up my right eye. Shoulder-holster snatched an unlit cigarette from a Graw's mouth and threw it on the floor, a scowl on his face. Giving one final remark, Shoulder-holster stuck his hands in his pockets and came round the table towards me.

" _Shit._ " I shrunk away from the crack.

"Not keen to become acquainted?" The woman smiled and inclined her head.

"It's him or you. Take a wild guess." I fled after the woman and inside her room.

"Well, I guessed wrong then." She pushed the door shut behind me and lowered the latch.

"Oh, God…" A jackhammer did a number inside my chest. Leant against the door, I caught a trace of sweetness in the air, a scent or fragrance that touched the tip of my tongue. Crumpled bedsheets and a duvet were scrunched up at the foot of the double bed in the centre of the room. Plump cushions sat upon a semi-circular couch that rested against one wall. A set of mirrors on top of a chest of drawers regarded groups of bottles, hair curlers, face paint, and everything else arranged in the ordered mess the woman needed.

"Hmm…." The woman shrugged off her shawl and draped it over a high-backed chair. "Shall we talk coin before or after?" She leant forwards and hugged the back of the chair.

"Oh, I'm not – I'm not 'ere for…" I wrung my hands, gazing at a spot on the carpet.

"Not here for sex?" A grin stretched across the woman's lips. "You must be the first ever to—"

"I haven't got any money. I've got a mate downstairs, he's no use till the morning. He was gonna pay for both of us. Without him, I'm…" I shrugged. "Sorry, Ma'am."

"I'm not the madame, but without payment we cannot do business." The woman rested her chin upon the chair. "For that I am sorry."

"Naw, I'm intruding 'ere." I shuffled in the direction of the door. "Sorry for wasting your time, miss."

"A minute's no loss. The speed at which some clients operate never ceases to amaze." The woman tossed her shawl over one shoulder and backed away from her chair. "Stay for a minute, if you like." She went and sat down in front of her mirrors. Out from a top drawer came a knife which sat within arm's reach. "Did Estoc let your friend stay in the hall?"

"Er, yeah, he's kipping in the hall." _Probably best not to mention Estoc slipped out for me. That won't win me any favours._ I toured the room, taking in the framed artworks depicting lovers in a multitude of positions I didn't think possible for the human body. Pink or red seemed to be the predominant colour in the room, with gold trim too. _Hope I'm not dragging muck in with me_. I lifted my boots and glanced at the soles.

"And you?" The woman drew a comb through her hair. "Seems an awful long way for a soldier to come without giving patronage."

"S'a formal way of putting it." I peered at a small pile of leather-backed books with gold lettering on the spine. The three were piled on a bedside table next to a lamp. "It's just, uhh, sex, innit?"

"We have our business, be it pleasure or simple counselling, as you have yours; killing."

"We're…" I turned around to look the woman in the mirror. "We're just 'ere to help though…"

The woman laid down her hairbrush and met my eye. "Can more rifles, armoured cars, and attack-dogs solve our problems?"

"I dunno what they are. I dunno why Norn's split down the centre, why there's GRA here and LVF over the other side, or why they don't like each other." I scratched my head and returned to the books. _Basic Trigonometry Vol. 1 & 2\. Miroshen's Guide to Mathematics. _The leather spine flexed beneath my touch. _And why is Graw building bombs here?_

"Can a sledgehammer perform heart surgery?" The woman tilted her head and reached to adjust her mirror. "Your imperium seems to think it can. Why bother sending aid when you can send men with batons and dogs?"

"I'm sorry this happened to you, miss. I 'aven't been 'ere long, I'm just trying to keep my head down. It's Art downstairs I've got to worry about. Them other two I came 'ere with… they're not worth a credit."

"No, the blame doesn't lie with you alone, it's that soldier getting in to bed with Graw in the other room."

"I saw him – met him – back at me barracks. A right old bastard, he was."

"Military intelligence performing undercover work. Covert, or so he thinks." The woman smiled sadly. "We can sniff a soldier out the moment he sets foot in our home."

"Reckon he's up to no good?" I put my hands in my pockets and slouched over.

"What's in your pockets?"

"Oh nothing." I patted both pockets. "Just some pain-relief. I took some flak in the spine not long ago…"

"Turn around. Lift your top up."

My back to the woman, I gritted my teeth and lifted the back of my jumper up.

"Where is Estoc?" The woman sprang from her chair, knife in hand. "You heed the Belladonna's rules or you leave!"

"No-no-no!" I danced out of the woman's reach, my hands raised. "My mate, Art, he brought it with him. I took the gun off him 'cause he was drunk. He was drunk!"

"Where is Estoc?" The woman held her knife at chest level, point outwards. I explained the errand and the Saint Josemine to her with my back to the wall.

"Nobody watches the front door?" The woman circled her blade at me. "You tell me there is at least _someone_ manning the front post."

"I bolted the door. Art's down there. He'll let Estoc back in, surely."

"Out." The woman pulled on slippers, all the while keeping her knife pointed at me. "Keep your hands away from your weapon and walk down to the front hall."

"If you try and take it, I'm gonna have to stop you," I said in a little voice. "I don't want to hurt you, or anybody."

"Out." The woman waved her knife at me. Eyes glued to the floor, I traipsed out on to the landing, turned right and made over to the staircase. "Sorry, I shoulda told you before I was carrying… I didn't want no harm coming to you or Art, or anyone."

Two pairs of feet, one loud and clomping, the other a soft flapping, made the descent to the front hall. "Art?" I found the stub pistol's grip and tugged it from my waistband. "Art?"

"Don't." The knife prodded my shoulder. "Don't."

I gesticulated at the long couch. "Art, he was lying there – he was right there!"

"Outside."

"Uh?"

"The door!"

"Oh, shit." I barrelled over to the leftmost door and pushed against the crack, widening it. "Stay here!" I flung an open hand at the woman behind me.

"I will seek the madame. Don't let anyone else in."

"Art?" I hustled away from the overhead lights, leaving the red hue behind. A breeze prickled my skin, turning up the hairs on my neck. "C'mon, where are you?" I swivelled, catching sight of a group of tramps huddling around a fire burning inside a fuel drum. "Not there." A prone shape lying on the pavement caught my eye. "Art?"

"Bleurgh, I'm fucking dying 'ere, James." Art spat yellow, viscous bile through a grate.

"Had me worried for a mo' there, pal." I tucked the pistol away and knelt beside Art. "C'mon, son, dig out. Let's get back inside now, yeah?"

"Didn't 'alf 'ave to run to lose this bombload down the drain, I can tell ya." Art dragged his sleeve across his mouth.

"C'mon, we're going back inside now, Art." I put one hand on Art's back and the other on his chest. "Dig out now. I need your arms and legs operating for this one."

"Nah, I'm unserviceable tonight."

"Yeah-yeah, just push off the ground. I'll do the rest."

"Can we fucking go now or what?" Art wriggled under my guidance. "I'm going home. Sick of this place."

"No, we've got to wait for Estoc to come back. Mind the step."

"So, where's this blonde you was gonna get me?" Art fell face-first on to the couch. "Urghh."

"Couldn't find one for you, Art. You stay there now. Don't move." I left the door wide enough to see where Art lay and headed back out on to the street. _Where the hell are you, Estoc?_ My left hand twitched. _Bloody leave us hanging here, why don't you?_

"James, what you doing out there?" Art called.

"Waiting out here for Estoc to come back, Art. You sit tight." I bit upon a knuckle. _Shit, what was that girl's name? Why didn't I tell her mine either?_ I took a step forwards and peered both ways down the street. _Right run-down dive this is. You couldn't—_

A jerk behind my navel and the ground became the sky, tumbling helter-skelter over one another. Hot air and debris burst over and around me, coating my clothes and skin in dirt. A ragdoll, my body rolled over and over on its side, slamming in to a pile of broken timbers on the far side of the street. Screams peaked over the howling inferno blossoming inside the Belladonna. Elbow-deep in splinters, I clawed at the ground and raised my lolling head. Flames crackled in the windows. Both doors lay out in the street, their hinges wrought and twisted. _Art_. I planted a soot-stained, blood-streaked hand upon the ground and pushed myself up. Getting to my knees, my head drooped until my chin was pressed against my chest. My hand ran up and down my back. Blood seeped from rips in the material. _Art_. First one foot then the other found steady ground. Clutching both elbows, I shambled to the Belladonna's entrance. " _Art?_ " I mouthed. Both of my ears rang. Art lay in the centre of the hallway on his stomach, covered head to foot in rubble and pieces of burning cloth. I tore off my jumper and beat at the fires. "Art!" Above my head, the roof beams groaned. I kicked and shoved at the mess covering Art and grabbed his shoulders, working them free. A spurt of fire shooting up my spine, I hauled Art out of the doorway. Splintering beams collapsed in to the hall, forming a barricade of jagged ends. I found Art's collar and pulled on it, bringing him as far from the burning building as I could, ending up where the blast had dumped me. "Art?" I touched the blackened, bloodied mess, searching for the thump in his chest. "Please." No thud-thud in Art's chest, nothing underneath his cut-up jaw, nothing pulsating in his wrist. I shook Art and beat upon him, bringing his head up next to mine, clutching him against me, screwing my face up in to the most hideous mask imaginable. _Art!_ I thumped my fist on his back once, twice, three times, for all the good it did. Hot tears slicing lines through muck and blood, I laid Art down on the street. _I'm so sorry, pal. Emperor forgive me._

Nothing stirred within the Belladonna's walls, nothing but fire and the crash of roofs and walls collapsing. _The girl!_ I strayed towards the blaze and clasped my hands over my mouth. My fingers clutched the top of my head, dragging lines through the soot-tainted hair, working back and forth. _What was her name? I didn't even get her name. What was her bloody name?_

A hand slammed down upon my shoulder, snapping me around. A glint of gold eyes and a flash of a scarlet-clad sleeve preceded an iron-hard fist crashing against my temple. Once more the world skewed sideways, and I fell, Art's name dying on my lips.


	11. Chapter 11

**The _Gorynych_ , Vindalex Asteroid Field, Lysades Subsector**

 _Danger_.

Entwined in her bondmate's arms, Princess Saarania twitched. "Dark forces assail us, mate-of-mine." Ulthyr groaned. "Rise!"

"Must they do so at such an inconvenient hour?"

"Then let us transmit a complaint." Saarania pried Ulthyr's arms from her waist. "Get up, Uly, the _Gorynych_ calls to me."

"Then pay her my compliments and let her know breakfast-time remains unchanged." Ulthyr dragged the thin sheets over to his side. His hand patted the warm space Saarania had left. "I cannot feel your flesh, my love."

Saarania flung a robe over her bare shoulders. "The time for tenderness has long since been lost between the sheets, Uly." Saarania tied the belt of her robe around her waist and shook Ulthyr's foot. "As ever, it takes an age to spur you in to action. With haste, mate-of-mine."

"A pestilence upon those that dare disturb the Void Dragons' slumber." Ulthyr rubbed the back of his neck and yawned. "A thirst rages…"

"Then quench it, but do so with purpose." Saarania swept through the solar, scattering cushions from the ring-shaped couch dominating the central chamber before her. "Guard! What news from the bridge?"

The sentinels standing guard before the solar's portal both turned and bowed. "Not a word carries from the bridge to our ears, your eminence."

"Let us see…" Saarania stalked the _Gorynych's_ corridors, paying no heed to the patrolling sentinels, each of whom parted before Saarania and froze in place, wary of their commander's wrath.

"Corsair, who has the bridge?" Saarania paused beside a lone sentinel two decks below the bridge. "Speak candidly, my patience treads a thin line."

"Naught disturbs this cycle, your eminence." The sentinel bowed. "There are words spoken by many aboard about the Druchii. There remains a presence aboard the _Gorynych_. A shadow left behind by its past masters. I apologise if your slumber was disturbed."

"Give answer or restrain tongue behind teeth, sycophant," Saarania snapped. "Who. Has. The. Bridge?"

"Why Dragut and his brother Vliss—"

Saarania was around the corner and hauling the skirts of her robe up the stairs behind her before the sentinel had finished. "Stand, stand!" she cried, upon entering the bridge. The token crew spun around to face her. Bullish Dragut, the elder, planted a hand upon Vliss's snow-hair and wrenched him about to face Saarania. Both stood before the _Gorynych's_ centre control sphere; their minds sharing the connection. The frantic pitter-patter of Ulthyr's feet behind Saarania echoed throughout the bridge. "A Druchii plague upon those that disturb the princess' slumber," he exclaimed.

"Your eminence." Vliss drew Dragut down in to a bow alongside him. "Human vessels skirt the asteroid belt. Our fighters spread their wings—"

"Recall." Saarania locked eyes with Vliss. "Both of you are relieved."

"Recall, recall!" Ulthyr flew to the communication sphere on the bridge's port. "Why launch without your commander's say? What ails your mind, corsairs?"

"Stand the Nightwings down before they launch." Saarania extended an arm between Dragut and Vliss then pushed the two apart as if drawing a curtain.

"They already have."

"Detention," Saarania whispered, her eyes passing through the siblings to fix on the pinpricks of light that were the departing fighters. "See yourselves there. Words will not help you." Louder, she addressed the bridge crew. "Battle stations. Show me the humans."

"To action. Attend your stations!" Ulthyr clapped his hands. "Reveal to us the humans." He snapped his fingers at Navigation on the opposite side of the bridge. "Their number and disposition."

"Route to me." Saarania split the bubble around the _Gorynych's_ control sphere, easing her mind amongst the tendrils linking to the ship's propulsion, barriers, and forward-facing batteries. "Spread warmth amongst batteries with their arc of fire covering port-bow through to starboard bow. Do it." A view, magnified several-hundred times over, of the edge of the field flickered before Saarania's eyes. "Forty-eight merchant vessels, double column with outflung escorts," a corsair said.

"Rich pickings." Ulthyr left Communications and came to Saarania. His mind touched hers, initiating a private discourse. _Let us engage. It will keep the crew sharp_.

 _Port Maw, Uly._ Saarania shook her head.

 _Many months away._ Ulthyr touched Saarania's outstretched wrist. _Tis many cycles since last we did battle. Let us not look for a fight with the humans. We encroached their territory. They are the masters here._

"Your eminence, our Nightwings return. Their presence goes unnoticed."

"Take the crews off standby, Corsair." Ulthyr stepped back from Saarania.

 _Uly!_ Saarania's heart jumped. _Decision lies with me, not you alone._

"Sever mind from the _Gorynych_ , your eminence." Ulthyr bowed his head. Both hands were hidden behind his back. "Step away from the helm please."

"Uly, please let it not have come to this…" Saarania closed her eyes. "We are one."

A click of a lasblaster's safety lock broke the mind-bond between Saarania and the ship. "Let there be no violence please." Ulthyr's hands, filled with the slender wraithbone grip of the lasblaster, clasped in front of him. "Commander-in-chief passes to the prince, in event the princess' decrees are no longer in Void Dragon interests but pose a threat to our family."

Saarania relinquished her hold on the ship and took a step backwards in to the centre. All hands were now facing her, holdout weapons raised. "Magnificent," she muttered with a sad smile. "Do all now take arms against me? Do you, Corsair?" She nodded at a corsair liaising with the engine-singers.

"Tell us, do you recall a single name of this company? I do." Ulthyr, now out of arm's reach, began pacing in a circle around Saarania. "But names are of little relevance to your current standing."

"Would an answer to my question kill?"

"Why give reason when you already know?"

"Ulthyr, give not in to pettiness!"

"Attacking warships belonging to the Craftworld Ulthwé is an act of piracy. It also constitutes an act of war. Though the Eye has always held us in contempt, they were never out for our blood. The frigates that fell under our guns shall place such a sour taste in the craftworlders' mouths whenever the name Void Dragon is uttered, we will be forever seen as enemies of Ulthwé and treated, not as combatants, but thieves without honour."

"We _are_ thieves! It runs in our blood. Outcasts living on the edges of civilisation. To rise above our standing invites only persecution. Do not forget what we are."

"Thieves we are, but we are also kidnappers. This fixation you bear on siring offspring stains our name. The Ranger's children, her property, will _never_ be a part of our family. You cannot rip younglings from their mother's arms and call them your own. Declaring war upon Ulthwé was folly. Armed excursion upon the guns of Port Maw… lunacy."

"Come, let us discuss this difference of opinion in our quarters." Saarania offered Ulthyr her elbow. "Come, my prince, there need not be violence."

"Nor do I intend to keep you here." Ulthyr backed away. "The _Rhazus_ is yours. The Ranger's children are yours. A bodyguard of no more than half a dozen may accompany you." Ulthyr passed his lasblaster back to a colleague then offered Saarania his elbow. "Let us discuss nothing."

"Your pardon." Saarania put her hand through the crook of Ulthyr's arm and let him walk her from the bridge. Four of the conspirators followed. "I never believed such a scenario would play out. It seems the very ship has turned against me, all without so much as a shot being fired."

"Such is the way of all things. A passive nature on my behalf would have ensured our fleet's destruction."

"Our fleet…"

"I beg thee, attempting a rallying cry is a lost cause." Ulthyr sighed. "Go in peace. Let nothing sour your departure."

 _Rhazus'_ pair of twin-engines hummed, each glowing a cool blue inside their exhaust nozzles. The rear ramp sat upon the deck. _Of course_. Dragut and Vliss stood waiting. _Am I fated to mirror the Ranger?_ Saarania frowned, stopped before the ramp, and turned to Ulthyr. "A moment."

Ulthyr nodded at the conspirators, who retreated. "Vliss, Dragut, see yourselves aboard. The princess will join you shortly."

"My prince." Vliss bowed. "Brother?"

Saarania's hands travelled up Ulthyr's arms and came to rest on his shoulders. "The children?"

Ulthyr's face darkened and he looked down at his feet. "Aboard. If you wish to set right your wrong, see the younglings to their mother. End her torture. Make your peace with the Ranger and perhaps, through her, Ulthwé."

"I cannot bend my knee to the half-case round-ear, Uly—"

"Swallow pride and offer apology. Tis a great show of inner strength that you might dispense with arrogance and humble oneself to her." Ulthyr gripped Saarania's upper arms. "You must!"

"A princess does not – cannot beg."

"You have no cause to bear that title where you go. Cast the princess' shroud loose, and become your own being."

"Without you, I…"

"You never needed me."

"I love you."

Ulthyr picked Saarania's hands from his shoulders. "The first and the last. Not on the day we took hands in bondage, nor in the years that followed. Never once between the sheets did those words whisper in to these ears. That time has passed, though weep not for me."

"Tears will not be shed. I bear nought but the wounds you inflict with your tongue." Saarania blinked at Ulthyr. "I wish…"

"Set right your wrongs." Ulthyr's thumb brushed Saarania's chin. "Know that love must be not be unrequited, but reciprocated wholly. Those younglings do not belong with you." Saarania spread her fingers and worked them through Ulthyr's. "Learn to let go."

Clear of the Gorynych, _Rhazus_ , guided by Vliss's hand, weaved through the planetoid-sized chunks of rock. Tiny fragments pattered against the fighter's barriers. "Your eminence, what is our course?"

Sitting with her legs drawn under her and her arms crossing her chest, Saarania gently rocked upon her seat. _With nought but the clothes on my back, I reach the crossroads._ Saarania rested her head in her hand and watched the rippling of the ship's barriers. "Your eminence?"

"Grendel please, Vliss."

* * *

 **Grendel**

Coarse, creaking rope ground red welts in to my wrists. _Where the…?_ My sore, gummed-up eyelids parted. Tears fell as tiny bits of dust found their way in to my eyes. _Art, where's Art?_ I lifted my head up from my chest. A crick in my neck brought my teeth together. Breathing through them, I tilted my head upwards. My arms made an arch above my head, wrists bound to one another. A rusted hook bolted to the ceiling took the strain. _A_ _meathook?_

Long, fat grey sacks hung around me, their tapered ends hanging two feet off the stone tiles. "Art?" I croaked. _Where are you? Don't leave me here. Don't leave me._ Art's bloody, tattered body fell from my arms in to darkness to lie at the wayside, joining Davir, Skargo, and Bulaven. A whimper escaped my lips. Suspended by numb arms, my body trembled. My toes curled inside my boots, scraping along the bristly insoles. I twisted my hips, my legs kicking at the surrounding sacks. _Come on!_ The rubber soles found nothing but thin air. I began to swing back and forth, my cheeks ballooning. Forwards, backwards, each swing adding momentum. _Art, I'm sorry_. Above me, the meathook squeaked on its hinge. _Why'd it have to be you? Why leave me alone with her?_

Her, the woman in red. _God, she's got a swing on her._ I rubbed the swollen lump on the side of my head against my arm. _Where is she?_ My head spun in circles when I managed to grasp the closest sack with my feet and ride the sack up to its hook. Jiggling my hands, I tugged them from the hook and gripped the hinge above it. My feet parted with the sack, swinging down to dangle as they had before. "…Shit." My hands gave out. The floor rushed up to meet my feet, buckling my knees. My shoulder cracked against the stone. "Oh…" Arms and legs, pieces of meat, flopped. I sunk my teeth in to the rope, growling at the flare-up in my shoulder. I dug deeper, grinding against the taught fibres with my teeth. Spittle dribbled from the corners of my mouth, wetting the rope. _C'mon, you bastard, that woman's out there._ Not giving an inch, the rope remained steadfastly binding my wrists together. _What's that?_ A hum resonated through the walls of the locker _. Is that a generator?_ I planted a boot upon the stone and put weight upon it. _Eurgh, is that sand in the sacks?_ I patted the small of my back. My shirt-tails hung loose and the weight of the pistol was absent. All that remained was a folded piece of paper in my back pocket. _That bloody picture. Why did I bring that?_ I got to one knee and wobbled upright. My shoulders brushed the bulging sacks, each one I passed swaying gently. _That's sand alright._ Dizzy with my head drooping, I massaged my temple with the back of my hand. _Where is she?_

The push-bar gave way under my shove. Warmer air filtered in from the crack I pressed my eye against. _Nowhere else to go but on._ I put my shoulder against the door and stepped out. " _Shit it_." My boot came down awkwardly on a short ferrocrete slope, scraping loudly. Picking myself up, I pushed the door to. Naked bulbs dotted a stone passageway, the walls of which stank of damp. Two full-grown adults could scarcely walk abreast, and there was only one way out. _She's coming back. Get out now!_ I swatted aside the cloaked and hooded spectre and leant against the passage wall, my jaw tightening at the banging inside my head.

 _You godless bastard, come back here._ The woman's face hung inches from my wavering muzzle. _Kill me._

 _Why? Why me kill her?_ I staggered along the passage, covering my eyes at each light I passed. A high-pitched ringing filled my right ear. My fingers hooked around the bars of a door at the end of the passage. _Oh no…_ I shook the bars. There wasn't a keyhole in sight. It took me far too long to find the latch, letting me out in to a square chamber with a staircase leading up in to darkness. Teeth gritted, I tiptoed across puddles of water to the foot of the stairs. _Where is she?_

Water dripped from the ceiling. Thin chains clinked against one another. Each circuit the staircase made took me higher and further from the dank floor. No side-passages or doors offered themselves. The climb persisted. _What if? What if? What if?_ I clutched the air within my lungs, not daring to let it out with too much gusto. _Can xenos see in the dark?_ _Greenskins can. But what about Stickies?_ A brief image of a pair of glowing eyes gliding towards me down the stairs brought my boots to a standstill. _Do you want to go back down there and wait for this madwoman to leap you from the darkness?_ Step by step, I carried on, hands clenched in front of me. A hall filled with nothing but the sacks led away from the staircase. Steel grating replaced stone underfoot. The first sack I passed I brushed with my fingertips, the crisp plastic flexing. _Sand?_ A thin trickle fell through the gaps in the floor. Catching a palmful, I held it under my nose. _Brown sugar?_

My elbows brushed the sacks. Each footfall flexed the floor. _Where now?_ No landmarks gave me a point of orientation. The opening behind me was swallowed up not five paces in to the hall, sealing me in the sea of bags. _Is it really brown sugar?_

A scratch of metal-on-metal froze me mid-step. _What's that?_ I closed my eyes and listened to what sounded like a slow grind of something dragging a blade across the ground. I tucked my elbows in and glanced over both shoulders. The slow grind drew closer. _No, no, don't come this way._ I clenched my buttocks, accidentally letting a fart out. _Wait, where did it go?_ A long, pronounced sniff seeped through the sacks behind me. The wool of my shirt clung to my back. All along my neck, my hair bristled. _Thudthudthudthudthud._

A ragged axehead burst through the sack beside my head. Sugar poured from the rift, roaring over my right shoulder and falling inside my collar. Under the shower of sugar, I fell to my knees, the axe swishing over my head to embed in an adjacent sack. I thrust my hands out and bellied forwards, regaining my feet and burrowing in to the endless field of hanging bags. My shoulders smacked at the obstacles, my bootsoles rapping on the ground, leaving a trail of noise behind me. A surface met my outflung hands, cracking my knuckles. " _Oh fuck_." I skittered to the side, following a wall along. Gaining on me, the axehead screeched along the floor. A body thumped against the sacks.

 _Stairs!_ I pawed at a ferrocrete ledge swept with dust. A handrail led down to the right, just out of my reach. Up the stairs underneath an open doorway, a red lamp blinked. A sack exploded at my shoulder, the axe slicing through the plastic. Doused in sugar, I fell against the bottom step, my hand flying out against the wall, riding it raw up the brick. Above my head, the axe crashed in to the wall. Cement and brick fragments filling my hair, I scooted towards the red light, a grinding screech following. In the glare of the light, a muzzle rushed at me from the mouth of a wide sleeve. Behind it, a pair of gold eyes glared at me from beneath a red hood. _You?_

The weapon spoke, the round slicing through the air, filling my left ear with a high-pitched ringing. My knees cracked against the edge of the step, the craggy stone connecting with my shoulder. Brown leather boots, poking out from beneath AdMech robes, stepped over my legs. I jumped as a second and a third gunshot, faraway, punched at my heart. Head lolling, I pressed my ear against my shoulder. A hand grabbed the back of my collar and lifted me up far enough for my feet to dangle in the air. Through streaming eyes, I squinted at the red-robed stickie's waist. I hung for a second before the woman dumped me back down, where my legs promptly collapsed underneath me. The woman tore at my collar, picking me up again, turning me round, and propelling me on.

Bells rang inside my head. The grip on my collar tightened. A hard shove, and I was against a wall. The woman dragged the tails of my shirt up to almost my neck and patted the small of my back then worked underneath my armpits and inside my thighs. I cringed at the grope behind my testicles and thrust a shoulder backwards. _Stop!_ The woman slapped me across the cheek and brought me around to face her. Her boot swiped my feet out from under me, laying me out on the floor of a tiny chamber split in half by a partition. On my side, I tilted my head away from the point of a bone-handled knife worming its way from the woman's sleeve. Circling, the blade flew towards my face. Blood coloured my cheeks. A muscle throbbed in my temple. The very tip of the blade pricked my cheek, adding to the cuts and scrapes there before tracing a line to my eye. A silent moan escaped me. Further and further back my neck stretched. The woman's fingers dug in to the top of my head. Spots swam in front of me. The knife-point inched closer to my eye.

* * *

At Derin's heel, Saeros skipped down the stairs, the shoulders of his robes dragging across the dingy walls. "My lady, desist!" Derin shouted. _Desist with what?_ Saeros jumped the last three steps in to the cellar and swung around a partition after the Felarch. _I know that face._ Saeros stared at a human lying at the Ranger's feet. The Ranger herself was nose-to-nose with the Felarch. "You break protocol. Our mission is the weapons, not the pursuit of petty vendettas!"

"This human was witness to us—"

"His memory, cleansed it was."

"Cleansed?" Izuru shoved a folded piece of paper against Derin's chest. "Does this suggest a cleanse?"

"Impossible…" Derin shook his head and thrust a pencil sketching at Saeros. "What make you of this?"

Saeros mouth fell open. "It… it captures her quite favourably."

"How does this _human_ remember our encounter on the day passed, fool?" Izuru reversed her hand to strike Saeros.

"No!" Derin seized Izuru's wrist. "No more abuse! Tragic so it is, your children's fate, it does not grant you free reign to torment all that cross your path."

"Please." Saeros stepped between the two. "Let conflict not divide us, I beg thee. Such enmity towards this child is nought but energy spent—"

"No, no!" Izuru wrestled free of Derin's grasp and took Saeros's shoulder, shaking it. "Look at him, look at him! Those boots. The shirt. That is a soldier, Saeros. That is a soldier who will tear your soul from existence as soon as set eyes upon you. Do you understand me?"

"I understand you." _Poor human._ "But this…" Saeros held up the drawing.

Izuru's lips drew back from her teeth and dashed the picture on the floor. "Godless bastard! Felarch, I would have private discourse. Saeros, watch the whelp."

Derin gave Saeros a look before following Izuru around the partition. Saeros listened to their retreating footsteps and let his shoulders sag. _Why, my lady? Why drag this human in to our company? Why not just leave him alone. The fault was mine not yours. My hesitancy granted him prolonged life._

The human lay in a loose foetal position. The tails of his woollen shirt hung loose over his civilian trousers. _A deserter?_ Saeros squatted beside the human. _His boots and shirt are Guard-issue_. Scrapes and grazes covered the human's hands. His matted hair bore dirt and looked sticky with blood. _She didn't, did she?_ Saeros shrugged off his cloak and folded it over the human's shoulders. _Unwarranted. Utterly unwarranted. How dare she inflict such hurt upon him._

"What is your name?" Saeros dug out a hydration pill and placed it in his palm. "Here." The human's head sagged. A scratched, filthy face shied away from the offered pill. _How can one so young wear the uniform? I might ask myself the same question._ Saeros bit upon the pill and swallowed, smiling. "Good." The human's eyes remained fixed upon the floor. Saeros frowned. Leaning forwards, he snapped his fingers beside the human's left ear. _Not a sign. Has hearing deserted him?_

"Forgive me, I seek only your name." Saeros found the cord holding the soldier's identity disks and drew it over his head. _Larn, Arvin J. Blood Type O+. 81576820._

"Hello, Arvin J." Saeros wrapped the cords around the disks and tied the ends off. "I am Saeros."

Derin's feet clattered down the stairs. "The human remains in our company for now. Bring him."

"Please don't let her hurt him anymore." Saeros helped Larn up, taking an arm over his shoulders.

"As it happened, the Lady Numerial saved his life. And no, those wounds were from a bomb blast. Idiot paramilitaries mishandling explosives. Keep him close now, Saeros, he is your responsibility."

On the stairs, Larn mumbled. "Ssh now, human. Speak not in the others' presence. They would see you dead in a heartbeat." _But why keep him alive if the Ranger would like nothing more than to end him? And how did she save his life by abducting him?_ Saeros reached ground level, half-dragging, half-carrying Larn through a storage facility gutted by fire and filled with tangled, twisted remains of foldout chairs and tables. _What use has the Ranger and the Felarch with him?_

"Why did you not take the shot when you had the chance?" Saeros placed the folded paper in Larn's hand. "And why go to the trouble of a likeness of this intensity?"

Through smoke-stained corridors Saeros led Larn, until, up a flight of wide stone steps divided by a handrail, the pair entered a huge oval-shaped arena. What had been a field for a human sport, played upon a grassy pitch, was now nothing more than a muddy bog filled with puddles and thin patches of yellowy grass. "We are just across here, Larn. Remarkable what the passage of time does to a construct. Look at how nature reclaims this land. Is this part of the city truly this neglected, I wonder?" Larn remained silent. Both Saeros and the human's feet felt the chill touch of the muddy rainwater. The hem of Saeros's robes became soaked. "Planet or starship-born?" Saeros vaulted over a broken fence ringing the field and turned back to offer Larn his hands. "Family or orphan?" Larn's eyes remained fixed on the floor as he reached out to Saeros. "I'm an orphan. The corsairs are my family. Maybe you had a family and maybe they loved you?" Saeros steadied Larn by the shoulders. The human lifted his legs over the fence and brought both boots down. "How has it come to that, an Eldar envious of a human?"

Above the tiered seating, wind gushed through gaps in tarpaulin nailed in place of where the arena's walls had been. Little but the skeletal supports remained. Ferrocrete pillars, many of which had been slowly eaten away, exposing rusted fingers of rebar. "Through here." Saeros unhooked a corner of a tarpaulin from a nail sticking out of the foot of a ferrocrete pillar and lifted it up. "Through here, human."

* * *

Skirting the sea of mud, Izuru led Derin along a row of seats and up to the sanctuary. "Blood of the human?" Derin hooked the tarpaulin back in place after he and Izuru had slipped through. Izuru lowered her hood and tossed her folded robe on to a seat next to the weapons' containers. "Another." Izuru worked the cord holding her bun loose. "Addled by narcotics, his mind sought only the eradication of the whelp by fervent application of an axehead." Izuru shook her hair loose, gathered it back in to a bun, and retied the cord. "Fields of substance populate the city's underbelly. I rather fancy drugs are what the imperium seeks here."

"And essence of propellant. Is that what I smelt upon you?" Derin picked up an ocular eyepiece and wiped the lense clear. "One wonders whether you truly wish this human dead, the manner in which you persist in toying with him." Derin placed the ocular against a hole in the outward-facing tarpaulin and leant in to it. "A plaything…"

"Slaves are for the Druchii." Izuru drew the human's stub pistol from the oversized holster on her hip intended for a lasblaster. Finished in a two-tone black on the lower and grey on the upper receiver, the pistol boasted a short rail underneath the body and night sights. Izuru slipped out the magazine, cleared the chamber, caught the round, and slotted it back inside the mag; operating the decocker before setting the weapon aside. "There lies a position in life for everyone. Each of us have our own uses. His is to play the victim. What do you observe?"

"Seen as much as heard. Gunfire and grunge reign in this city." Derin lowered the ocular. "Lady Ranger, let us not dally about the crux of the matter." Derin set the ocular beside the missile container. A frown dashed across his face. "Format a decision please. Terminate this human's life or find purpose for him. I will not have him dragging at our skirts." He glanced sidelong at Izuru. "There is nought to gain through unnecessary torture…"

" _Please_." Izuru spat. She slipped a pill in to her mouth and swallowed it with water from a bladder. "Tis not the suffering of the human I seek. You can all play at being pawns. I see beyond that."

"A broad mind I approve of but keep head from the clouds. Involvement with the humans, as is outlined in mission protocol, is kept to a minimum. That soldier knows too much. And he's seen your face."

Izuru picked up a Long Rifle and took it and a blanket with her to a corner. "No man or woman alive would believe the word of a lowly Guardsman. His tongue can run as long as he draws breath. No one will believe him." Upon a blanket, Izuru laid her rifle and set next to it cleaning implements.

"And that drawing?" Derin unscrewed a tube of food paste and sucked in the grey slop. "Quite the artisan…"

"He missed the ears – keep the waste with you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Any waste, we bring out with us. The ears remained unchanged."

"Your ears?"

"What does it imply?"

"His lips were sealed."

"…Good."

"Sentiment."

"Peculiar, considering the debacle of Platis."

"Well, perhaps information might be wrought…" Derin's head jerked in the direction of the corner panel. "If you would excuse me, madam, nature calls."

"Bag it and bring it with you." Izuru scowled. "At least blindfold the whelp before leading him up here, Saeros!"

"Well… rather too late now." Derin pulled the human in by his wrists. "I did not think to bring one, truth be told. Have him face the wall, Saeros. I am stepping out for a moment."

"There. Down there. Face that way, human." Saeros manoeuvred the human in to a sitting position with his nose against the wall.

Izuru bristled. "Know that their ignorance prevents their understanding of the beauty of our tongue, and address him without familiarity or let your fists and boots convey words."

"And give the Void Dragons a bad name?" Saeros dangled a pair of identity tags, one red and circular, the other dark green and hexagonal, before Izuru. "His name is—"

"Names are for beings. That one does not have a name."

Saeros, his lips clamped together, took the tags back. "Will you allow me to untie his hands?"

Izuru left her rifle's charge cell half screwed in and looked up at Saeros. "You can untie the human's hands then bind them behind his back."

"Yes, my lady."

 _Not a wholly unreasonable order. Why Saeros had to lead him here without blindfold though…_

"Apologies." Saeros worked the binds with wraithbone. The human gasped as Saeros pulled his arms behind his back and bound his wrists. "Please, I do not wish to gag you."

"You do not apologise!" Izuru stamped over and yanked the human's hands backwards, dragging him aloft. The human screamed.

"Restrain tongue behind teeth, whelp. This will go on hurting." Izuru span the human around and hooked the rope over a sharply angled piece of rebar poking out of a pillar.

"Fuck you." Spittle sprayed the ground.

"Really? All the words you can muster are fuck you?"

"Let him down, my lady."

"Let the Serpent consume your soul, _Pirate!_ "

"Let him down." A click brought Izuru's head round. Saeros stood over Izuru's Long Rifle, a lasblaster held in both hands at his waist. "I mean it." Saeros raised his lasblaster. The muzzle wavered. "This wanton cruelty is… is Druchii. You call yourself Ranger of Alaitoc yet I see you brutalise a human as if he was mortal enemy to you!"

"I would not cross your thumbs when handling that weapon, young one." Izuru took a pace towards Saeros. "Maintain a high grip, always check your weapon is loaded, and retain trigger discipline until you are absolutely certain that you wish to fire."

"I won't let you… can't let you." Saeros's jaw quivered. "Gods, just let the human go."

"Gods, whose gods? In whose name do you act, Saeros?" Izuru spread her hands, her voice softening. "We do not share deities. Down here, you are all alone with me."

"My own." Saeros glanced at the weapons on the table beside him. "I want. You. To stop."

"Call to your companion, your fellow corsair. He is your brother. He will protect you from me, won't he?" Izuru's fingers twitched. "Let there be three graves filled tonight."

"No." Saeros's forefinger began squeezing the firing stud. "…No."

Blue light flashed. Izuru tottered a pace, leant sideways then collapsed on her side.

"Let none be dug in your name." Derin, his head and one arm thrust through the opening, lowered his pistol and pulled himself in. "Raise your weapon, Corsair. The threat passes."

"Is she dead?" Saeros's lasblaster fell to his side.

"I would have thought you old enough now to tell the difference between stun and lethal, Saeros." Derin pocketed his stun gun and knelt by Izuru. "I take it the human is responsible for this little episode?"

"I couldn't let her torment him any longer, Felarch. Words were spent in vain." Saeros tossed his lasblaster upon the table. "Was I wrong to take arms against her?"

Derin pried a knife from Izuru's boot and patted the empty holster on her hip. "When next you draw your weapon, be sure you intend to use it first, or what good is it? She knew you would not shoot and would have punished you cruelly for it." Derin dragged Izuru over to the human and laid her out close by. "I know you can understand one another quite well. Maybe this time it will be words passing between you as opposed to attempts on one another's lives." Derin made a loose knot around the human's ankles then tied the rope to Izuru's left ankle. "I apologise for my companion's conduct, she does let her heart run away with her at times." The human kept gloomy eyes on his own feet. "Fear not of a lynching. We may let your own race do that for you after you have served your purpose. Come, Saeros, we gather knowledge."

Saeros waited for Derin to slip underneath the tarpaulin before turning to the human. " _Psst!_ " The human, taking a glance at Saeros's feet, raised his gaze to Saeros's hands. Saeros placed his wrists together and mimed a sawing action. _Run!_

* * *

 _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten._ I pressed my cheek against my left shoulder and tilted my head back. The few inches of rebar, bent upwards in an L-shape, kept me in place. I raised myself up on tiptoes and lifted my shoulders. _No, too high. I'll dislocate my shoulders even trying._ Well within arm's reach, the stickie woman lay with her feet close to mine. _Is she dead?_ Several of the stickies' knives, along with other weapons, xenos and human, sat around two containers on a table opposite me, both in weathered OG. A long rifle, bone-coloured and adorned with gemstones, lay upon a blanket in the far corner. _What is this, an OP?_ I slipped the rope back and forth, grinding the fibres against the rusted iron. Air escaped my nostrils. _Am I still in Norn even?_

Strand by strand, piece by piece the binds gave. _Come on, come on!_ The final stubborn hairs parted, returning me my hands. "Oh, God…" I clutched at my wrists. Red welts glared up at me. _Where did those other two go?_ I set my eyes upon the equipment and loped forward. "Shit." My ankle tugged at the woman's own foot. _Knife_. I picked out the peculiar knife the woman had held. The handle was poking out of a small satchel next to the containers. Bending down, I dug in to the tangled knots holding my left boot on and pulled the laces loose. _"…No."_ The rope held fast around my ankle, even with the boot off. _If I can only…_ I walked along the floor on my hands until the rope taughtened. "Come on…" My fingertips scrabbled at the table edge. _Throne, she's not giving an inch._

The rope bucked. _Ah!_ I grasped the edge. _That's more like it._ A violent tug from behind swept my legs and torso off the ground. Hauled backwards, I dug my fingers in to the table until it leant over on two legs, the contents sliding at me. "… _Shit_." I let go. Containers and weaponry crashed down behind me, spilling across the floor. Twisting around on to my back, I slapped at the woman's face as she leapt atop me, shoving her face away. The woman seized my wrist and twisted, ramming the knuckles of my hand against the floor. Her face flew down and hissed at me, tongue wagging behind teeth. I made a fist with my free hand and stuck it in to the woman's temple. She blinked once and dove her forearm against my neck, her other arm finding its way around the other side. Dragged up in to a sitting position, I made a flat with my hand and rammed it, fingernails first, in to the woman's right eye. At once, her hold slackened. A bark of pain ripped from her lungs. I battered at the woman's hands. One of them flew over her right eye, the other clawing at my neck. Boot and sock dug in and shoved me away. I pried at a stickie laspistol lying within reach. The woman's hand swiped downwards, killing the feeling in my wrist. I rolled over a knife she kicked at me, trapping the blade underneath my chest. Barrelling in, the woman's shoulder rammed against me, her free hand tearing at the buttons on my shirt, lifting me off my feet and pummelling me against a pillar. My legs kicked. A laspistol's muzzle kissed my forehead. "Let this face be your last." The woman leant in, the tip of her nose inches from mine. A livid, bloodshot eye fixed upon mine. "Know that for all your pathetic luck and narrow escapes, I _still_ won."

"How 'bout we go together, uh?" I pushed the stickie knife against the woman's side. She twitched, a tremble coming on in her jaw. "Stalemate, innit?"

The woman's good eye butterflied. "Lower the blade and place yourself on your knees with hands behind your back."

"Yes, ma'am." The knife clattered against the floor. "Oh… I remember now. You wanted me to do you. You were scared. You wanted to die."

"Then why didn't you?" The woman twisted the laspistol's muzzle against my cheek. "Why, whelp, why?"

"S'not me who's gotta answer for himself." I leant away from the weapon's intimate touch. "Why d'you want to die?"

The woman took a bunch of my hair and snapped my head back. Her voice whispered in my ear. "I will be the one asking the questions, or can your drug-addled mind not handle that?"

"What?"

"Did you think it sugar?" The woman slapped the back of my head then moved in front of me. "Know you of your true purpose here, pawn?"

"…Trying to help—aahh!" Another blow struck me. "S'nothing to do with us." I whined. "Dunno why you're beatin' on me. Oi, how 'bout we go together, uh? Suicide pact or summat."

The woman flipped her laspistol around in her hand and smacked my mouth with the butt. "Why the attempt at identification? Who is after me?"

"Uh?" I wiped a dribble of blood on my shoulder. "What, the picture? That weren't me, stickie, my mate done it. Helped to jog the memory, see?" I shook my head. "'Cept he's not going to be doing any more. Not after…"

"Those that venture out of bounds deserve everything they get. Was the sin of flesh really worth the trouble?"

"N-n-no, I only went 'cause Art was. I'm not – I'm not in to that; paying for it I mean."

"Enough. Why did you not take the shot, end all our lives and receive commendation for the eradication of xenos?"

" _Pfft._ " I spat blood in front of my knees. "I got no beef wi' stickies. It were Graw that were chasing me 'cause they stole one of our automatics. Can you imagine the bollocking—?" The woman's hand clamped over my mouth. I mumbled on through her hand.

"So Platis lies in distant memory?" The woman's fingers squeezed my cheeks. "Let me see…"

Icy needles peppered my mind, each thought, desire, event, past and present, was laid naked for the intruder's scrutiny. All this took less than a second. "Ignorant, meek, self-conscious, low self-esteem." The woman's hand relaxed. "Not a being worth spending another second's contemplation on." I brought my hands around to my face. With no interference from her, I dragged my hands down over my eyes and nose. "What have you to say before this Ranger offers a choice of death?"

I gathered my loose collar around my neck and held it tightly, looking up at the Ranger's eyes. "I can help you get those weapons in to Graw's hands."

"Then be rewarded as a traitor deserves. With a bullet, coward."

"Okay, fine, I'm a coward. But how are stickies looking to march in to the middle of a human gang and make a fair trade? What d'you get in return?"

"Right now your life is of greater concern to you, whelp."

"You want to kickstart a full-on civil war, don't you? That woman you was talking with on Platis, was you answering to her? Why is it you was dressed differently than all them other stickies?"

The woman tapped her pistol butt in the palm of her hand. "Enough," she growled.

"You're a hostage, aren't you?" My face lit up at the flush tinging the Ranger's cheeks. "Hate being 'ere just as much as I do, don't you?" The Ranger shoved her laspistol in to a hip holster and swiped a knife from the floor, bearing down on me, blade-outwards.

"This woman's got something on you or belonging to you. That's why you're 'ere doing her dirty work, aren't you?" I babbled. "Now who's ignorant—?" The Ranger reversed her knife and cracked me across the brow. I fell in to blackness.

* * *

Far from the arena's shadow, the pre-dawn drizzle soaked through the hood covering Derin's head. _Slums like these surely belong below the planet's surface, or at least in a hive where such squalor is commonplace._ Derin wiped his mask's lenses clear and glanced back at Saeros.

Hab-blocks – human habitation units – rose ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen storeys up in to grey fog. All dirty red brick and grey ferrocrete coated with dust and muck kicked up from the rutted, potholed roads that snaked through shanties belonging to squatters without credit to rent a solid roof over their heads. All they had was flapping sheets nailed to wooden posts to keep out the elements. Some slept in tents, others in derelict vehicles with their windows covered and their innards ripped out to make room for the mass squat. _Human filth._ Derin smelt the latrines, stinking worse than the sweaty musk of a hundred thousand humans piled in to a district. _How am I to place a number to them? They could be millions._ Gothic coated walls in so many places, there was not a single bit of bare brick or ferrocrete, and even then, the layers of red, yellow, black, and white graffiti were sprayed on top of one another. _NO GODS, NO EMPERORS. Lose one slogan to time, another pops up in its place,_ thought Derin. Now, where would we find this human Veen?

A flurry of spittle landed on Derin's foot. " _Fucking Clanker_ ," a pile of rags hissed. Derin hugged his robes around him and waded through an ankle-deep puddle, Saeros sloshing behind him. _Felarch, how…?_

 _Saeros, please, I have little knowledge on our human contact. Maess would have known the details._ Derin briefly watched three humans huddled around a puffing gas lamp underneath a half-buried shell of an automobile. Duckboards kept their feet out of the water. Lines of brown powder lay upon a piece of wood, passing for a tabletop. Each human took turns to snort the substance. _Abhorrent, utterly abhorrent. Pay no attention to their decadence, Saeros._

 _They are surviving in this hive. They are strong beings._

 _Strength comes from the mind and sheer willpower, Saeros, not from the body. I can look death at each one, and they shall know Her._

 _Felarch._ Saeros put a hand on Derin's arm. _Watch for sudden rainfall._

Two hunch-backed humans, one riding atop the other's shoulders pushed at the plastic sheeting overhead. A third human crouched ready with mud-stained buckets and crumpled bottles laid out underneath. Water trickled down from the roof, splashing in to the containers. _Even deprived of basic necessities, humans still survive. The roaches of the universe._ Derin turned away. _Come, Saeros_.

Fires burned in iron braziers. Animals shrieked in cages. A bazaar filling a narrow street boasted stalls piled two and three atop one another, the tiers linked by walkways made of rickety wood. Behind many stands, ancient weapons, antiques with wooden furniture displayed extortionate price tags. Bundles of semi-automatics, bolt-actions, toggle-actions, lever-actions, breach-loaders; collector's pieces more than anything were on sale alongside bins of surplus ammunition.

 _Sealed in and boarded up._ Derin picked out the twenty-foot-high concrete wall in the distance surrounding the slums. Another ten feet of barbed wire was heaped atop it. Behind the wall, three giant domes, each with their shells punctured, reared up. All three lay at angles, as if their foundations had given way. Derin, hearing a short burst of automatic gunfire, hunched his shoulders and looked in the direction of the shooting. _Stay thy hand, Saeros. We come in peace._

 _Said no race ever._

 _You are armed, are you not?_

 _Blade and blaster, Felarch._ Saeros rubbed his arms. _How can so many survive in so little space?_

 _Act only with my say._

 _Yes, Felarch._

" _Felarch_." Izuru spoke in Derin's earpiece.

"Lady Ranger." Derin stooped, passing through an opening in a wall, his boots scattering brick fragments. "Apologies for the assault."

" _You will see no violence against your own, Felarch. I do not accept your apology. It is I who give apology. I overstepped._ "

"Accepted. Our guest?"

" _He sleeps_."

"The sleep of the dead?"

" _Sadly no. I have use for the human. I would have words once you return with knowledge of the slums_."

"I understand."

" _Well, has knowledge been amassed?_ "

Derin dragged Saeros back in to a shipping container buzzing with flies and pulled a curtain of musty cloth in front of them. " _Enemy,_ " he muttered. Three humans in long, loose garments and carrying automatic rifles with long, curved magazines patrolled past. _Skirts?_ Derin drew the drape back an inch and watched the strangely-attired humans move on. Each wore a soft cap without peak or crown and openly wore assault vests bedecked with grenades and ammunition for their hand weapons, all carried slung across their bulked-up chests. _Unsuspecting, good_.

"No knowledge as of yet, my lady. I have little idea of where this Veen might be."

" _You know as much as I do, Felarch. Be cautious. Report in hourly from now_."

"Would you carry out a task for me please, my lady?"

" _A diversion you seek?"_

"Open the smaller of the containers on the table."

" _Mm… I may have to search_."

"Are you secure?" Derin stopped in his tracks. Saeros nudged him from behind.

" _No cause for concern, Felarch. The human… has spirit_."

"Aha. I trust you can handle one little human, my lady."

" _Caution, Felarch. I have the container in my hands."_

"Inside you will find two melta bombs; disk-shaped with a red orb in the centre."

" _Yes?_ "

"If I fail to meet the hour, you will lay our explosives in the humans' narcotic farm. Placement is at your leisure. Be aware of the nature of thermobaric ordnance, it is extremely—"

" _Lecture me not in the correct use of melta charges, Felarch. I am familiar with the handling of all variants of explosive ordnance in Eldar arsenals_."

"Your confidence heartens me, lady."

" _Remember the hour, Felarch. I am very punctual_."

"Of course."

 _Not even a good luck to you, Felarch?_ Derin wondered. _No, not from her, the cold-hearted, half-breed outsider. Why must such a creature exist, and why am I the being saddled with her issues?_

 _Are we to ask for this human, Felarch?_

 _We are to listen, Saeros. Take a leaf from the Ranger's book. A lot can be learned during covert surveillance._

 _Then why did we depart without the Ranger?_

 _Saeros, I am beginning to have doubts on the Ranger's state of mind. Such an unpredictable, aggressive temperament can only hinder us here._

 _She is not herself, Felarch. Wouldn't your judgement be marked too if your loved ones' lives were under threat and you were powerless to aid them?_

 _Loved ones? A weakness, Saeros, and ammunition easily turned on you. Be thankful you have nought to lose but your life._

 _Felarch, another patrol._ Saeros's pace slowed.

 _Maintain pace. Do not deviate._ Derin buried his hands in his sleeves and moved to the side, taking a route through a puddle whilst three gunmen swaggered along on the dry part of the path.

 _Felarch. They follow._

 _Do not deviate._

The same heavily-armed paramilitaries from before began a procession behind the corsairs. One began humming. Derin swore quietly. Saeros jumped and raised his shoulders when a string of children zipped around him in a circle. _Keep moving, Saeros_.

 _Why are they attracted to us?_ Saeros flapped his arms. _Make them go away._

 _Calm, Saeros. As long as you are with me, no harm will befall you._ Derin glanced at the ground. "Lady Ranger, we may be on the cusp of making contact with the human paramilitaries. Standby for further updates." A stone memorial standing in the centre of a square came in to view. A statue of a soldier stood atop it. Legs spread wide, the soldier advanced with bayonetted lasgun and granite chin thrust outwards. Majestic, if not for the piles of glossy red, yellow, and pink paint splattered all over him. At every entrance to the square, armed humans bulked-up in body armour and draped in ammunition belts lounged with their automatics. Behind Saeros and Derin, the humming ceased.

"What mischief happens upon my kingdom?"

 _Where?_ A pair of legs appeared from behind the statue, their owner mimicking the heroic pose to a T. "A pittance passes these hands." A human male gripped the statue's lasgun and swung himself round to Derin. "Or be judged in the People's Court." Pink cheeks stood out from a long, scraggly, grey beard that did not match the human's dark brown, equally ratty hair. Military suspenders held up an apron carrying tools across the human's chest. Baggy, grey trousers were bloused over a pair of black sports shoes. A beret hung almost off the side of the human's head.

 _What does he mean?_ Saeros shifted close to Derin's shoulder. _Felarch?_

"Greetings and good morning to you." Derin bowed, tugging at Saeros's wrist. "We bring—"

The human chewed on a long fingernail, bit it off, and spat it out. A few of his lackeys laughed. "You are here at my pleasure, knife-ears." He squatted. "Here and only here because I allow it. Take 'em inside." Mud splashed around the human's feet as he jumped down from the statue and headed over to a set of four doors at the foot of a tall building. With the glass absent, the human simply stepped through one of the frames and continued in to a foyer. _A place of entertainment. What do humans call it, a theatre?_ Fat letters spelt out the words: _now showing_ which may have been illuminated before poverty had swept the district. Other letters were strewn around in the mud, forgotten and neglected.

 _Stay close, Saeros_. Derin caught sight of boots swinging from upper levels where the floors had caved in. _We tread a narrow line._ "The humans have their headquarters in a theatre four-hundred yards to the west of the arena, my lady. We may have our means of reaching this Veen now."

Again, silence on the other end. "Lady Ranger?"

 _Oh…_ Saeros fell back a pace.

 _Stay with me. Do not aggravate the humans, Saeros._ Derin tore his eyes from the boxes high up in the wings of the theatre hall. From the semi-darkness, more humans watched, some even sitting on the very edges with their legs dangling over nothing. The upper circle and main circle held humans and arms in equal amount. The lowest stalls though were bare. _What is the purpose of these theatrics? And why the audience?_

A red curtain covered the stage. It was through there the human slipped, leaving Derin and Saeros in the company of the armed escort. These twenty humans arranged themselves through the stalls, propping boots upon chairs and cradling weapons in laps. " _What was once a venue of the arts_ ," a magnified voice boomed through the theatre. " _now hosts nothing but the wretched wastrels of society, the forgotten, the unwanted, the oppressed. Remove your shroud, outsiders. Let us speak man to beast."_

 _Do as he commands, Saeros_. Derin pushed back his hood and loosened the clasps holding his mask in place. "Our package in exchange for your cooperation, humans. That was the agreement."

The human's hands pushed through the curtains, widening the gap for his shoulders. "When I say a pittance, I mean a toll. You, my knife-eared friends, have not paid credit-one." The human crouched on the edge of the stage. "Where are my weapons? Where is the boom-boom?"

"My associates conceal the package on the outskirts of the district. Our knowledge on this rendezvous was scant, human. We would have your guarantee that you will keep your end of the bargain and employ the package against government forces. You seek a regional uprising, do you not?"

"It's bad luck to talk about what could, what may be." The human nodded at Saeros. "You scared, boy? I promise not to lay a finger on you. But tell me where my weapons are."

"Delivery of the package will—" A knife embedded itself in the floor between Derin's feet.

"No, no, no more chinwag from you, stickie." The human raised his forefinger and aimed it at the watchers. "I promised these good, honest folks that I would kill every last wicked foreigner that assails our nation." The human clasped his hands together in to a ball and pressed his mouth to it. "I _must_ obey the code. You may only choose."

 _Return to the Lady Numerial, Saeros. Seek means of escape from this planet._ Derin squeezed Saeros's arm. _This is my undertaking_.

 _Let us fight our way out, Felarch. Why give in without struggle?_ Saeros snatched a glance behind him at the armed cadre. _Strength comes from the mind and sheer willpower._

 _Not when a platoon's worth of heavily-armed humans have you in their sights, Saeros. Mob justice will be served here today._ "My colleague walks," Derin said to the human. "Grant him mercy."

The human grinned. "He may walk. But he must first watch. After all, he is the guest of honour at this show."

Derin pounced upon the human's mind. " _We are leaving this place together without bloodshed, human._ " A crack behind Derin's ear spun his mind in circles, breaking the connection with the human's mind.

"Oh…" The human pinched the skin on his forehead. "Xenos mind-foolery there. Nice try. Very clever too." Two pairs of hands seized Saeros and Derin, the latter hustled on to the stage, the former held firmly in place. The curtains drew back, letting light on to the stage. A thick rope with a loop at the end dangled from a wooden frame, itself standing several feet above the stage.

"Heed this warning, human, your substance farm will burn in thermobaric fire if I do not send word to my people within the hour."

"Let it burn." The human shrugged and sauntered over to the makeshift gallows, his thumbs tucked inside his apron. "It's what we all become; ashes."

"Know this does not boil down to unwillingness on my mistress's behalf. If you would accept my word that we will deliver the package to you wholesale…" Derin's hands were bound behind his back, his weapons confiscated.

"Your word? What is your word but the word of a xenos?" The human's lip curled. "Those people out there, they would tear me limb from limb for this. String him up. Today's the day I get to kill me a stickie."

"Wait. Don't kill him! Don't kill him!" A figure burst through the doors and ran down the centre aisle. "I have information on the xenos!"

"Tell, Estoc, tell. And be witness to this knife-ears' end." The human wrenched the noose down around Derin's neck.

"The third has her hideaway in the Voros Stadium."

"The weapons?"

"Remain with her. But, Veen, the stickie has captured a soldier. As far as we know he was the only one to walk free from the Belladonna."

"On, the Belladonna!" Veen hopped down from the platform. "That was you, was it?"

"It wasn't us. I'm not talking about the Belladonna. I'm saying we take the soldier and the stickie and use them. Just wait till the government sees we've got three xenos! They'll have to listen to us then."

"A government soldier?"

"Imperial Guard, even better. But, Veen, they'll be looking for him."

"Two, three?" Veen shrugged and pulled himself back up to the noose. "Just numbers. Let's see what stickies are made of, shall we?"

"Veen, we need as many—"

"Be a good lad and fetch me my weapons, Estoc. Watch if you like." Veen grasped the lever and pulled. The floor gave way underneath Derin's feet, dropping him through. Cheers broke out amongst Veen's guard. "WITNESS!" Veen roared, clapping his hands. "Are you watching, freak?"

Derin's legs kicked. The colour in his face drained, turning a grey-blue. The choking gurgles were drowned out by the hoots and cheers.

"Estoc, take your pick here and bounce over to Voros." Veen laughed. "I want to see the weapons and that stickie woman alive and untouched."

Estoc glowered at Veen. "Nine men, with me." He spun on his heel and pried a grenade launcher from another's hands. "CS?"

"Oh, what to do with you?" Veen rubbed his hands together and knelt in front of Saeros. "I'm gonna wear your friend's ears around my neck and nail his body to the wall. Can you understand…?" Veen removed a glove and slapped Saeros across the mouth. "Let's hope this woman is more forthcoming. No matter, I only need you to watch."

Derin's spasms had ceased. "Are you watching, stickie?" Veen crawled underneath the platform and tugged on Derin's feet. "Human or xenos, you still piss yourself…" Veen left the hanging body and slipped down to the theatre floor, retrieving his knife. "This will be the last thing your stickie eyes see." Iron hands held Saeros in place. Taking Saeros's jaw, Veen drove his knife at Saeros's eye.


	12. Chapter 12

**Grendel**

A roar, coming from far beneath me, shook the floor I lay on. _"…Ohh."_ I peeled my sticky head from the floor and lifted a numb arm out from beneath my chest. _My head._ I rested a palm against the rising lump where the woman had struck. _God, she's strong. Where is she?_ The mess remained, but the woman had vanished. The floor lurched underneath me. Black spots ran riot in my vision. _Got to get out._ I crawled forwards, rising to my knees. Grey light filtered in from outside. _Dawn? Throne, I can't see straight._ I pressed my thumb and forefinger against my tear ducts. _What did she do to me?_ I glimpsed the grip of Art's stub pistol lying on the floor. _C'mon, pull yourself together!_ I slapped myself in the face and worked my jaw up and down. On my hands and knees, I walked over to the pistol and picked it up. The two-pounds-worth of polymer and steel swayed in my hand. _Not a chance. She'd just hunt me down and drag me back here._ I put the weapon down and sat back. _That's mine._ I reached out for my other boot, sitting on its side in the middle of the mess. I gave up trying to retie my laces after the third attempt, leaving the laces loose. _I can't do it, Art. I can't do it._ I sniffed. _Why'd you leave? All I've got now is her, a woman who hates me. What would you do now?_

 _I'd sort this mess out, James._ _Can't xenos clear up after themselves? Pull yourself together now, me oppo._

I wiped my nose on my sleeve, touched the bruise on my forehead, and made for the overturned table, lifting it upright. Little by little, I worked through the mess, until all was returned to where it had been, even the bone-coloured xenos rifle in the corner on its blanket. _Wouldn't have made it far anyway._ I flopped down on the spot where I had lain and rested my back against a ferrocrete pillar. _Is that my blood?_ I touched a dark stain, covering it entirely with my palm. _Oh, God._ An invisible hand squeezed my head. Bells rang in my ears. _Where am I?_

A red smudge grew in the corner of my eye. The woman's hand pushed my neck away from the pillar and dove down my back, underneath my armpits, inside my legs, beneath my buttocks, and within my boots. "D'you find it?"

"Find what?" The knife flashed. "Perhaps I may only take your tongue, whelp."

"Can't help you then, can I." I pressed my hand against the lump. "Got any ice?"

"What did you take?" Her mouth a thin line, the woman wrenched my hand away and jabbed the tender spot with a finger.

"Cold – _aargh!_ "

"Cold?"

"Warm…" I winced. "Warmer. Mind yourself, our stickie, nothing's hidden down there."

"Hold tongue or lose it," the woman spat, returning to her gem-encrusted rifle. "Think about your future. Those lives you spent in pursuit of tainted flesh. _Harai!_ "

"Told ya, it weren't for me," I growled. "Don't talk about…" A silver canister, trailing grey smoke, whizzed through the opening in the outwards-facing wall, clattering against the floor and rolling towards me.

" _Baharr!_ " The woman dragged the sling of an autogun over one shoulder, slung a satchel over the other and drew her hood over her head.

"What…?" I scrambled away from the rolling canister. The woman dived through the opening without a second glance. "Oi!" I punched at the dangling flap the woman had left behind her and crawled through. A hot itch began spreading across my skin. "Shit!" I kicked at the post behind me, rolling over on to my back once my legs were clear of the hole. Dry smoke filtered through after me. One pair of laces flapping loose, I ran over to an iron rail and looked down the centre of a stairwell. The woman was three floors below me. One hand on the guard, I hopped down the stairs. Fingers of smoke, spiralling from adjacent rooms, pursued my downwards flight, filling my eyes with tears. Choked of air, I gathered my shirt and bunched it beneath my nose. Each short leap brought me three or four steps closer to ground level. Each subsequent slam of my heels in to the stone set off gongs inside my head. Dizziness flung me in to walls and yanked my feet out from under me. My cheeks were sore and sticky by the time I made ground level and stumbled out of a doorway, very nearly toppling forwards and slamming chin-first onto a road outside the stadium. Shirt-tails flapping behind me, I dove in to an ivy-coated alley, stopping only once the stadium was out of sight. I leant panting against a wall, moss burrowing underneath my fingernails. Somewhere a dog barked. _What was all that then?_ I pressed my thumb against my tear ducts. _Where are you, stickie?_ I plodded along the alley. The ringing returned, this time louder in my right ear. _Ain't half easy to spot her in a crowd…_ I made out the conspicuous red garb further along the alley. The woman had her back to me, an open map in her hands. "The Stone—" I tripped – a bootlace caught underneath my heel – and barrelled at the woman, arms flailing. She sidestepped and placed her back against the wall, lifting the map up, letting me fly underneath it. I caught myself on the wall a few paces on and reached down for my laces. "The Stonehill."

"Fly east, whelp, I have no use for you," the woman muttered without looking up from the map.

"If they're gonna lynch me, what d'you think they're gonna do to you?"

"I wonder… How fast can you run, whelp? For the day is young."

"The – the Stonehill." I hooked a finger around the corner of the map. "There's a—"

The woman slapped my hand away. "I urge you flee before—"

"I've got a friend, he lives at the Stonehill."

"I have no business at the Stonehill."

"Can I just see where I am?"

"Bend your knees and beg."

"What? No, number ten. I've got a mate at the Stonehill, he'll put me up. That's my plan. Least till I can find a way back to me barracks. If I was you, I'd ditty-bop from the block on the double 'fore Graw gets wind you're on the loose."

The woman lowered the map and stared at me. "…I do not comprehend your words, whelp. Begone."

"Look, I'm lost without a map."

"You were always lost." The woman folded her map and tucked it away, bringing her autogun around to her chest. "You have seven seconds to run." I shrunk back from the woman, hearing a gentle click of a safety switch. _Seven?_ Running feet echoed down the alley. _That way._ The woman snapped her weapon's telescoping stock back and pointed to her right with her off hand. " _Furtafar_."

Hornets shrieked past my ear, tearing fragments from the wall. Dust and dirt roared around me, pursuing my flight along the passage. Single shots from the woman's rifle barked, pummelling my ears. Colliding with a wall at the end of the alley, I cowered. A hand hauled me up by the scruff of my neck and pushed me on, guiding me by the shoulder until it returned to my collar, dragging me to a halt. "Climb." The woman cupped her hands at knee-level. "With haste, whelp, or I leave you behind."

"…Shit." I planted a boot within her hands and was flung up the uneven surface. I stifled a cry when my stomach rolled across the rough parapet.

"Whelp!" The woman whispered.

Straddling the wall, I glared down at her. "Come on then!"

The woman hefted her satchel in her hands and threw it up to me. "Shit, that's heavy!" The satchel banged against my knee. "Ow."

"Whelp!" I lifted my leg over and dropped down in to a tiny yard. _What's in here then, marble?_ I unzipped the bag and peered inside. Filling the satchel were steel magazines thick with copper-jacketed rounds, grenades, pouches for the gear, unmarked tubes of paste, and two sidearms, one of them Art's stub pistol. "Keep your hands in view." A flash-hider appeared in the corner of my eye.

"Not planning on starting a war, are we?" I removed my hands from the satchel and nudged it over to the woman with my knee. "Nah, you already did that when you served those guns to Graw on a platter."

The woman slid the satchel back to me with her foot. "Bear the weight upon your shoulders." She crossed the yard, ducking underneath a washing line thick with clothing and placed her back against a wall next to a wooden door. "With haste, whelp. The dawn brings fresh hatred for the machine-slaves."

"Hey." I yanked a quilted jacket with a hood from the washing line. "C'mon, our stickie, this one's yours." The woman tilted her rifle to one side and checked the chamber. "They're gonna be looking for a clanker. Put this on." Adjusting her rifle's sling, the woman shook her head. "Put it on." I threw the jacket at her. " _Daft_ ," I muttered, tearing down a faded, colourless sweater hanging closeby. "See you coming a mile off, so they will." Still damp from being washed, the jumper sagged in the armpits and hung over my hands. "Call me coward, yeah. I'm trying to stay alive." The woman pressed her ear to the door and listened for a moment before propping her rifle against the wall and reaching for the jacket. Aiming a finger at me, she twirled it. I turned around, noticing an outhouse. _Just the spot_. "We heading to the Stonehill then?"

"Can you guarantee safe haven there?"

"So, we are goin' that way then."

"As the avian travels, pathing to the river takes us through the most heavily populated areas in this part of the city. South, to the Stonehill, offers a seedier route east."

"How did you get 'ere anyway?"

"At night, by wheeled transport."

"You stole some MT?"

"Minds like yours are easily bent to our will."

"So why don't you do it to me now…?" I turned my head a little.

"Straight eyes, whelp. Those trousers hanging, throw them behind you."

I unpegged a pair of dark trousers, damp with patches over the knees, and threw them behind me.

"Don't like doin' it, do you? We're slaves to you if you wanted it—"

"The ease of it is intoxicating. Total dominance over another's being heralds the start of a dark and terrible path. Think of it as slavery to an addictive substance; caffeine, nicotine, lho, gladstones."

"You ever had it done to you?" The creased, unfolded clanker robes hit my shoulder, landing by my foot. I gathered the robes up and, leaning in to the outhouse, dumped them beside a dirty toilet. The woman now wore the jacket and trousers and had drawn the fur-lined hood tight. "Well, our stickie?"

"Place your hand upon my shoulder," she said when I gathered the ammunition bag over one shoulder. "If you make attempt to run, I will put a round in your knee and leave you for the humans."

"What, like this?" I touched the back of the woman's left shoulder.

"Right shoulder. Why must you favour the left?"

I switched hands. "Left-handed, aren't I."

"Why you out of one-hundred other humans? Why must it be you?" The woman lifted the latch and nudged the door open, pushing her muzzle through the widening gap. Scanning left, the woman swung her muzzle down to her feet and trained it to the right. " _Move,"_ she whispered.

 _Better shut up. She'll start slicing fingers and other parts off if I make a peep._ My eyes strayed down her back. _It suits her._ At a joint where the alley ended and split in to two branches, the woman halted and placed her rifle flat against her chest, positioning the muzzle near-vertical. She tilted her head and mouthed something. " _What?_ " I mouthed back. Her hood placed everything above her cheeks in shadow.

" _Go. Look."_

Trading places with the woman, my cheek touched the damp stone. I stole a glance down a west-facing alley. _All clear._ The passage east was likewise bare of Graw. " _Nothing_." I drew back behind the woman. She took her firing hand from her rifle and beckoned to me with a finger. Once again, her lips had grown thin.

" _Perhaps lesson may be learnt. Your eyes dart about, settling where they are not welcome. Observe instead this Ranger_."

" _Ranger?_ "

The woman held a finger to her lips. " _Sound travels far in close confines_."

" _I'm_ _quiet_."

Several winding alleyways further on, the ground shifted underneath my foot. " _Oi. Drain cover. Give Graw the slip down 'ere, so we will."_ The woman shook her head. " _Number ten is it?"_

"…Incomprehensible." She sneered, turning away. "Return to your kind then, rat."

"So, I'm a rat now then… Well, rats are survivors, y'know." My spine tingled when our eyes met.

"Then lift… Rat." The woman said softly.

I knelt, my fingertips feeling for the rim of the cover, and lifted. "Mmph… no, I can't. That's not gonna happen." I let the cover go, wincing at the clack it gave. "Aaah…" I pressed my hand against the scar on my back. The woman manoeuvred her rifle around to her side, got down on her knees and found the crack, slipping the fingers of her left hand under the rim. _Throne, that's her weaker hand too…_ I massaged my aching arms, and planted a hand over my mouth to prevent a quiver overtaking my jaw. " _Bloody hell_ ," I murmured, my feet rooted. The woman flexed the fingers on her left hand and unslung her rifle, sliding the stock inwards before taking it down the ladder with her. Once her head was out of sight, I cast around, a driving thump in my chest. _Me and my big mouth._ I tugged the sling over my shoulder and backed down on to the rungs. _How much bleeding ammo is she carrying in here?_ I hauled the cover towards me once my shoulders were just below the surface, biting down at the horrible grating it gave. "Oh, shit." I blinked in the pitch dark. Rung by rung, I descended until a hand coming up underneath my rump stopped me. " _Fuck!_ " I lashed out, catching something soft with my heel.

" _Kaela!_ " The woman latched an arm around my neck and pried me away from the ladder, dragging me in to a sitting position. Her arm pressed further in to my neck. "Let the aggression flow from you. When I let go, relax your hold on the ammunition. Nod if you understand." I twitched my head. Releasing me, the woman lifted the strap over my head and took the ammunition on her shoulder. "Further defiance will be punished, grievously so."

On my backside, I touched my throat. "Could've got inside my 'ead and made me. Why didn't ya?"

"Words fly around your head in circles, or are you so simple-minded?" The woman flashed a small torch in my face. "Ignoramus."

"Alright, alright." I held my hand over my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'll – I'll take the bag."

"No talk now." The woman flipped the torch over in her hand and passed it to me. "Take it."

"Them weapons…"

"This is all you will receive." The woman's rifle hung loose at her hip. Her hand went inside her jacket and unclipped the tab holding her knife in the sheathe. From the bag, the woman produced a second torch. Her free hand tapped her ear. "Walk." I swallowed and took the torch.

 _Explains why she's got such a swing. That strength. She'd break my back over her knee._ I gnawed at the skin on my lower lip, the patient pad of the stickie woman behind me. Rough, uneven brick walls scratched at my baggy jumper. Moss sprouted from patches of damp. Rats burrowed in to alcoves and crevices to escape the twin torch-beams, beady little black eyes shining.

" _Where there are humans, there will always be accompanying vermin. You are alike,"_ the woman muttered. I imagined her wearing a little smile. My fingers tightened around the stippled grip of my torch. _A face I'd like to punch._

"Aren't we too? You'd make a good spy. All cunning and seductive-like." I chanced a look back at her. The hand rushing at me found my shoulder, fingers digging in sharply.

"Deprived of his senses…" The woman pushed me against the wall, killing her torch. Rats scattered past my feet. Her thumb and forefinger squeezed my wrist, loosening my hold on the torch. "…how can one little human ever hope to see the light of day again." Twin glowing orbs glided backwards, leaving me in the dark.

"Stickie?" I waved my hands in front of me. "Ranger?" I paused and listened. _Nothing. She's gone. Okay, think, think. Night exercise. Can't see. Drill instructors' dicking torch blinding me. Sarn't Ferres' live rounds._ My gut tightened. One hand brushing the wall, I groped my way along. Rats skittered in and out of cracks, nattering to themselves. _Bloody rats._ The surface my hand followed fell away. Alcoves, where a deeper darkness lay, paid host to dozens of the vermin. _Are those bones?_

"… _Ohhh._ " I swallowed. Similar recesses all along the passageway held piles of bones; human bones. _Now I know how the rats got so fat._ I shuddered. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Thin veils shrouded the burial alcoves in grey, wispy silk.

 _Where is she?_ I began dreading the woman ghosting at me from the darkness, with the knife. _God, that axe…_ I shivered, trapping my hands underneath my armpits and placing my chin on my chest. "Art…"

The long-dead surrounded me, the vermin their sole companion, at least until I came along. _Urgh._ I shouldered aside a thin curtain of web. _It's sticky._ I batted at the silk clinging to my jumper, not seeing the floor ending in front of me. My boot broke the surface of a pool of water. The sudden falling sensation launched my stomach in to my throat. My head sunk beneath the surface, my legs flailing in the murk. Slimy balls of wet fur surrounded me, little claws clambering over my shoulders and digging in to my face. My soles touched the bottom of the passage. Pushing off, I kicked at loose bricks, clawing at ruts and protrusions in the wall beside me. Bits of mortar came away in clouds. Bricks fell around me. Torrents of fat rats spilled from the holes, the vermin piling around my feet. _NO!_ I scythed through the cascade, my heels treading on a carpet of squishy fur. I found a solid foothold and dragged myself up to the surface to hordes of rats tumbling over one another. A twitching tail dropped inside my collar. "Aargh, fuck!" I swiped the rat from my shoulder. Another dug claws in to my ear and climbed on top of my head, only losing its grip when I dove back in to the water, pulling my body along the wall. A tickle in my lungs swelled to a stifling, burning sensation. Reaching for the surface above my head, I found only water. A moan left me. Balling my fists, my arms windmilled. Glued to the floor, my legs thrashed. Claws rammed against my neck, lifting me from the passage floor entirely. My head burst through the water's surface. Droplets gushed down my face. A hand dealt a stinging blow across my cheeks, then again. I blinked through streaming eyes. " _Zaineth sin-kel!_ "

" _Kill me_ ," I mumbled between gasps. " _I'm alone. Kill me. Kill me, please_."

"You do not warrant such mercy. If your death is called, t'will be for a cause, rat."

"I'm… I'm…" My shoulders rose and fell in ragged spurts. "Rats can swim… I can't."

"Up." The woman stepped back against the wall and drew her rifle across her chest. "A brisk pace now would benefit you."

"Why you doin' this?" I pressed my arms against my chest and clutched my elbows. "You don't need me anymore…"

"You will provide me with sanctuary in the Stonehill, whelp. Where my path leads then… That is not for you to know. Be grateful that I may only take your life, and not the lives of those you call friend."

" _Don't you dare_."

"Speak louder, whelp."

"Don't you dare. Risto's got a family, he has. If you touch em…!" I spun and launched myself at the woman, never mind I was soaked and shivering. The woman pitched her muzzle upwards, swinging her stock at me.

Wool rustled along the rough ground, scraping at my back. Both of my legs were held fast in the air underneath the woman's arm. "Uhh…" I raised a limp hand, brushing the swelling in my cheek. "Oi…" In between moments of blackness, I pawed at passing outcrops and tried reaching for my bound legs, to no avail.

" _Enemy_." The woman's hand touched my mouth.

" _Mmm_." Candles glowed in tiny holes, letting faint light out in to the passage. _Enemy, where?_ I turned my head and peered through a crack in the what seemed to be a partition between the dimmer passage where I lay, and a larger, brighter, area. The woman bent over me and whispered, a finger touching her lips. " _Make not a sound_. _Friends of the axe-wielder."_

Seven cloaked figures shambled in to view, dragging an animal carcass between them. Blood leaked from the corpse, leaving a wide trail behind it. " _Mmm_." The muzzle of the woman's rifle dug in to my side. I touched the cold steel and gently nudged it away. _What's this?_ My fingertips found dry gauze wrapped around my head. _Bandage?_

" _Stay your hand_." The woman flashed her knife blade at me. Her hand lifted from my mouth. _"Wait."_

 _What are they doing with that?_ I squinted at heavy boots shuffling around in an almost inhuman manner, bearing the skinned corpse to a table and dumping it there. Knives slid from sheathes. I held my breath.

 _Cult rising feared_. The newspaper headline reared up in my mind. " _Cultists_ ," I mouthed at the woman. She dipped her head and turned her ear to me. " _They're cultists_." Nodding, the woman turned her palms upwards. _What can I do about it?_ I pointed at the ribbed handguard on her rifle. She gave a solid shake of her head. The sound of organs puncturing turned my attention back to the cultists. The woman clamped down upon the sharp gasp I gave when tiny, buzzing insects dropped from the table, forming a brown tide as they spread across the floor. The woman pulled me off the floor by the collar of my jumper, stretching the threads inside to breaking point. Not even the littlest noise came from her, too preoccupied with stifling my whimpers as she was. A storm of profanities circulated my head. Shivers overtook my body.

 _Take off your boots._

 _What?_ I risked a glance underneath the woman's hood. Her gold eyes, ever-piercing, remained level with mine.

 _Untie your laces. Remove your boots. Tie the laces to one another then wear the boots around your neck. I cannot simplify my instructions further._ My wrinkled fingers set about loosening the soggy mass. _Focus on it. Nothing else matters, human._

 _Alright, okay, I've got it._ I hung my boots around my neck. _I see what she means now. Leather squelches._

 _Place your hand upon my shoulder and do not look back. Their sacrifice preoccupies their thoughts._ The woman swung the ammunition bag on to her shoulder and, positioning her rifle against her hip, led me along the partition, her knife held outwards in her right hand, the other hand supporting her forearm. " _We must crawl_." She shrugged off the bag and lowered it to the floor, setting her rifle beside it. Knife clamped between her teeth, the woman wriggled in to a narrow crawlspace. A moment after her feet disappeared, I heard a hiss. " _Human!_ "

"' _Ere_." I passed the rifle through to her, muzzle-first. I winced as the body dragged along the floor. The woman's hands found the barrel and pulled it out of my hands. I followed on with the ammunition, pushing the bulk ahead of me. _What's she planning on doing with all this brass?_ I set my head against the piles of magazines and forced the weight through the tunnel, emerging around the corner from the chamber where the bizarre ritual was taking place. _"…Shit_." The woman laid a cultist, this one without hood, on the floor, before wiping her bloody knife on the cultist's robes. An open book sat on a table surrounded by candles made of red wax. An upturned chair lay some feet away. " _With haste_." The woman scooped the ammunition on to her shoulder. I planted my hand on the other and trailed her out of the chamber, down a dim flight of stairs. _Shouldn't we be going up, not down?_

My socks became wet with animal blood, each step a little stickier than the last. The woman's footfalls were silent, the sole noise being the gentle clink of cartridges loaded in her rifle's magazine. Empty-handed, I tugged at the taught laces garrotting my neck. _Greta?_ I peered through a gap in a tumbled-down section of tunnel, my hand leaving the woman's shoulder. Through it, across a pair of disused tracks, a sign was mounted on a wall above a platform. _What is this, a metro station?_

" _Whelp!_ " The woman darted back to me from the tunnel ahead.

" _Hey_." I threw her a glance. " _It's a station_."

" _Not our destination_ ," she muttered, not even bothering to look.

" _It's Greta station. See if we can find it on the map, yeah_."

" _The map charts_ _ground level only."_ The woman seized my arm, placing my hand against her shoulder. " _Onwards. Admire nothing_."

 _What's this hand-on-shoulder thing all about anyway?_ I made a face behind the woman's back. _Can't you tell where I am? I feel like a naughty wean._

" _Hush."_ The woman's knife was out. Passing the ammunition off, she motioned me to stay back in the shadows, whilst she ventured out in to a branch, where single set of tracks lay. A pair of cultists sat on stools warming their hands around a fire flickering inside an oil drum.

" _No, go past him_." I clutched the bulging bag tightly, wringing the stiff fabric. " _Don't."_ A door, set in the far wall, opened, and two more cultists emerged, laughing at something. The woman, still concealed by the darkness, retreated back to the hole I crouched in.

" _Hold_."

"' _Ere, I've got an idea."_ I let go of the ammunition. " _I'm gonna go and talk to 'em_."

" _No, I forbid you_." The woman snatched the ammunition.

" _You're not me oppo, me wife, or me mother, woman. So, stop bossin' me about!"_ I untied my laces and peeled my bloody socks from my feet, going barefoot inside my boots. "'Ere, have these." I tossed my socks at the woman's feet. "Bit pongy I'm 'fraid. Mind the blood too."

" _No, you are my prisoner. You do as you are told_." The woman hissed, lunging for my arm.

"Too late." I scooted away from the woman's hands. "You've had your chance." Feet flapping inside the stompers, I kicked dirt out in front of me, heading for the four cultists.

"Hey, who's that stumblin' around out there?" A cultist sprang to his feet, slapping a wooden stake in his palm.

"Hang on, it's only a lad."

"I'm hurt." I affected a stumble. With a hung head, I folded my arms. "I'm hurt."

The cudgel-armed cultist smacked his palm with the head. "You're lookin' to be hurt more now…"

"Hans, look at him! My son's older than him." The single cultist still sitting aimed a battered tin mug at me. "Harmless."

"Oh, right, right. When's the last time the missus let your tattooed fizog near your boy then, Rowl?" Hans twirled his weapon.

Rowl burped. "S'cuse me. Come closer, my lad. We don't bite."

"Ooh, dunno 'bout that…"

"Oh, yippidy-yap, claptrap. Go slaughter something." Rowl flicked the few dregs in his mug at Hans. "I'm sure our brothers are busy butchering. Why don't you swing that bat somewhere else?"

Hans sniggered and brought his bat over to me. "Whoooh!" The edge ruffled the top of my hair. "Nah, this one's trouble. His ears are too big. Maybe I have a nibble…?" I hunched my shoulders, lowering my gaze.

"Come on in, wee lad." Rowl beckoned.

"Been throwing fives?" A younger cultist, bare-chested underneath his robes, said. "Been in a riot, I mean?"

"More riots?" Rowl took a small bowl of soup from another cultist, his hand quivering. The cultist clasped his hands together and held them against his belly. "There more riots up there last night?" I nodded, my eyes on the lumpy chunks of meat floating in the grey liquid. Rowl's hand trembled, spilling some of the soup. "It's not what it looks like, lad. We don't starve down here." Rowl tucked his other hand underneath his leg. "Up on the surface we're wild dogs tearin' at boot leather."

"Ta." I sniffed at the soup Rowl offered.

"Really did a number on you, didn't they? Graw stirring up trouble again? Tin Men? LVF?"

My shoulders sagged. "Just people…"

"Doesn't matter. They're all bastards." Rowl set the bowl before me. "Ain't that right, Mase?"

"You know it more than anyone," the younger cultist, his arms resting on his knees, replied. "Then there's us. The rats in the mud."

"I sure hope you took 'em from Malky's thugs…" Rowl gazed at my boots. "Could use a good pair myself but… They're gonna be too small."

 _Malky, who's Malky?_ I picked up the rolled metal edges and raised the bowl to my lips, sucking down some of the liquid. Rowl jiggled his knee, exchanging a glance with Mase. "Thank you." I set the bowl down beside the oil drum.

"Where d'you come from?"

"East bank. I was over with some friends. I lost 'em last night. Been hiding down 'ere since."

"Your family?"

I shook my head. "No."

"What's your name, son?"

"Arv. Arv Leden."

"Poor fella…" Rowl looked down at his crossed legs. "Mase, would you mind helping young Arv up to the surface? Show him the way home."

"Rowl…" The third cultist, up until then still and silent, rose, a short blood-encrusted blade in his hand.

"The tenets call us to offer aid to any who seek it, Evgar. Our hospitality is granted without condition. Raise your sword. Mase, if you would?"

"Come on, Arv." Mase inclined his head. "Let's get you home."

The rubber heels of my boots clacked upon the iron rails of the main branch. Mase's sandals made softer notes. "Up here." Mase clambered up a slope where the edge of a ferrocrete platform had collapsed. "Not safe to walk on the rails. Here." Mase offered me a hand up.

"Ta." I reached for an iron railing separating the platform from the short drop to the rails and used it as a handhold.

"Can't be all alone out here…" Mase pointed at my bandage. "Looks fresh."

"Err…"

"So, where's your barracks?" I stopped dead, a warm flush running through my cheeks.

"Long story?" Mase folded his arms.

"Yeah." _Should I tell him?_

"Hmm." Mase shrugged and smiled. "You haven't got the look."

"Uh?"

"S'posed to acquire this look when you've seen too much. Your blues are still warm, Arv."

"Me what?"

"Your eyes." Mase picked up a loose bar and used it as a walking stick, tapping it on the ferrocrete floor. "Least Graw doesn't come down here. Did you hear about the Belladonna?"

"Yeah."

"Poor girls. I knew some of 'em, y'know."

"I... I weren't there." I closed my eyes, a fist choking my throat. _That poor girl. She was educated. Too good for whoring._ "Don't seem right to me. Paying for a girl to… you know."

"Wrong side of the playing field for me." Mase tapped his pole on a door with a faded yellow sign screwed in to the surface. "The Stonehill, you say? This way's quickest. Don't bother heading off down the tunnel there. There's hundreds of tunnels underwater."

"Yeah, I've got a mate livin' there."

"Oh?" Mase gripped a wheel and turned it clockwise. "Mmph, bit stiff, this. Don't usually go that way. That's… erm…" Mase performed a rotating motion, his eyes on the ceiling. " _This_ is south."

Cobwebs stretched from floor to ceiling. In corners, floor and ceiling, tiny nests of fungus glowed.

"Hey, shut the door behind you. So, who's your friend then?"

"Erm…" I took the inside wheel in both hands and heaved the door to. A gold eye appeared at the crack I left. "Better you don't know, uh? He's got a family, he has. If Graw finds out he helped a soldier…"

"They'll take everything from him." Mase sighed. "Graw, the Tin men, the LVF, Malkara's bully-boys, the Imperial Guard, all black-hearted bastards – nothing against you personally. You're just…"

"Playing the victim." I swiped a bit of cobweb from my neck. "S'alright, I know my place. Who's this Malkara?"

"Nobody higher than him on Grendel, and he's the one eating out of the imperium's hand."

" _Lifer_." I settled down in to the rhythm of the thumping of my boots and the flap of Mase's sandals. There was only one way forwards, no tributaries or doorways, ladders or hatches, just the pair of us, the cobwebs, and the woman. _Where is she?_ I asked myself over and over again. _God, she frightens me._

"Mase… I'm – I'm not alone 'ere."

" _Hunh_. Doesn't surprise me. Somebody had to have bandaged you." Mase grinned. "So is he showing up at all soon?"

"Oh, God, she's right there!" I gasped. Hands flew from the pitch-darkness behind Mase. "No, don't hurt him!"

The woman kicked the back of Mase's knee and covered his face with her palm, slamming him on to his back. Mase lay still until the woman lifted his head up by the hair and manoeuvred him in to a sitting position against the tunnel wall. "Watch the lies unravel!" she shot at me.

"No, no please, I'm begging you. Don't hurt him." I clasped my hands together and shook them.

The woman picked up the bar and levered Mase's legs apart before moving close enough that her knee was pressing against his chest. " _Let the negotiations for your survival begin_ ," she whispered.

"He's not a bad person. He's not a bad person." I reached out for the woman's shoulder. "Please, Ranger, I promise I'll help you get away from Grendel. Just don't do what I know you're gonna do." I screwed up my face and turned away when the woman slammed the end of the bar down on Mase's bare foot. Mase howled, his fingers scrabbled at his foot.

"Take me on a journey to the Stonehill from here, cannibal." The woman shoved her shoulder against Mase's head.

"No, please, you've gotta stop. It's not right. It's not right!"

"Is there a trap ahead for us? How many humans? How many are armed?" The woman extended her little finger and buried it inside Mase's ear.

His face contorting, Mase screamed through clenched teeth. "…There's nothing. No-one!"

"He's tellin' the truth, for God's sake!" I backpedalled at the sight of the knife pointing at me. "And you call us savages!" The woman's elbow pressed against Mase's temple. She reached for his right eye and, with thumb and forefinger, squeezed it until blood ran.

"NO! NO MORE!" I fell to my knees. "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry?" The woman released Mase, swivelling, and came to stare down at me. "Sorry for what?"

"For not being a good Guardsman and knowing when to die." I choked. Folding my arms, I bowed my head and sobbed. "Should never have gone down that tunnel. I'm sorry for all this."

"Then let these final moments pass painlessly." The woman drew a laspistol, pointing it at my forehead. "Let us not prolong this." A dull smack, and the woman lurched sideways.

"Run, Arv!" Mase, pole raised, shouted.

"Shit!" I belted away along the passage, outflung hands ripping through cobwebs, strands of the stuff coating my sleeves and shoulders. A high-pitched shriek ripped through the tunnel. My shoulder cracked against a sharp corner. _Mase?_ I flinched at the echo rolling towards me. " _No…_ " Again, the shriek hit me, curling my naked toes inside my boots. I rocked on the balls of my feet, biting my lip. _No, James, she, going to kill you!_ I pushed away from the wall, rubbing my shoulder, and fled further down the tunnel. Shafts of green light poured through holes in the thin cobweb veils. Quickly coated from head to toe, I toppled towards a slim gap underneath a pile of ferrocrete chunks fallen from the ceiling. Crumbling edges ground against my shoulder-blades. A rat scuttled across my arm. _No way she's getting through that gap_. I nursed my scraped elbows and knees, ducking underneath a burst pipe. _Is that a train?_ I worked a finger inside my right ear. "Ohhh…" I ran my fingers over the bandage. _Why did she bother?_ Dizziness overcame me. I struck the wall with my palm and leant against the cold surface. _Chin up, me oppo._ Art spoke in my head.

 _I can't. I'm through, Art._

 _Just a little further._ I pushed myself on, crashing in to a sealed door. Coarse rust coated the wheel, grinding red welts in to my palms. Little by little, the wheel turned. I pushed at the door, then pulled it towards me, booting at the wall beside it. Light poured inwards, increasing as the gap widened. Squeezing through, my boot collided with an iron rail, tripping me up and giving me a face-full of ballast. "Huh?" I touched the rail. A hum rang through it. _Train!_ I clapped a hand over my eyes. Two bright white eyes surged around a bend and roared at me. Ears firmly plugged, I stood flat against the door, wedging my body in next to the wheel. With a deep bellow, the monstrosity clattered past, very quickly giving way to square freight cars and flatbeds packed with tarpaulin-covered goods. Concentrating on the howl, I squeezed my eyes shut, dust blowing through my hair. _What?_ The wheel pinched at my sleeve, spinning around and around, faster than I could turn it. _How did she…?_ I ducked away from the door, my head following the steel fingers keeping the goods on the cars. Each post flashed past. Bits of gravel shot out from underneath the train. Left and right, left and right, left and right. My head sat on a swivel. Each turn black spots swam in to my vision. Flecks of ballast nicked my skin. _Come on. Come on!_ I stretched out my arms, opening my hands, reaching out for the flashing posts. _Footplate!_ I staggered along the ballast, my eyes following the iron steps slicing the air at knee level. I'd lose a leg if caught by the edges. The stagger became a lope, then a jog. I tensed, my forehead pulsing, and leapt. My right knee rapped against the plate. My hand tightened around a stout pole. The sole of my left boot bounced off a screeching bogey. I pressed my cheek against the buzzing flank of a freight car. A red light flew at me. With both arms I hauled myself up on to the flatcar and collapsed inside a narrow pipe, panting, my arms crossed over my face, my boots level with my chin. Inside the rattling pipe, I wept.

* * *

 ** _The Rhazus, Grendel Orbit_**

"Our shroud descends from the darkness, your eminence. We are undetected." Vliss slid back from the psionic bubble and reclined in his seat. Saarania and himself had the bridge. The once respected princess, barefoot, sat on a reclining seat hovering a foot from the deck watching the brilliant glint of light peak the curvature of the planet. "My heart lends itself to your pain. The hurt your prince dealt you was unjust, cowardly…"

"Speak not of the past, my white warrior," Saarania whispered. "Always remain with me in the now."

"Always." Vliss brushed Saarania's consciousness, nothing more than a tickle. "You will no treachery among our ranks. My mind is always open to you, your eminence."

"And body?"

"At his princess's command."

"Your words ease the soul." Saarania drew the hem of her robe away from her ankles. "Does unity with the ship put your heart ill at ease, Vliss?"

"I let it do my work for me."

"You seek stimulation elsewhere? I prefer manual control. These hands of mine in firm contact with the apparatus—"

Vliss tossed his mane and laughed. "Your pardon, your eminence."

"Perhaps those hands of yours could be put to use upon these feet of mine." Saarania flexed her toes.

"I welcome it, your eminence."

"You would…" Saarania smirked. "Tell me, what filth-ridden backwater have we happened upon?"

"One without much to its name…" Vliss routed a three-dimensional image of Grendel to Saarania. Information on the planet Saarania briefly scrolled through.

"Nought but a blossoming narcotics trade. What the humans would refer to as the black market, Vliss?"

"Blossoming. Not a word these ears of mine have heard uttered in a great many cycles." Vliss tilted his head as if daydreaming.

"If I might interrupt your reverie, my pilot. A discreet landing zone away from the centre of the planet's capital would be preferable."

"Should I call ahead and request a princess's welcome?" Vliss turned his back on Saarania and slipped through the bubble.

"A respectful tongue would do better."

"Tongue is at your command, your high eminence." Vliss's cheeks widened.

Saarania rested her chin in the fingertips of her left hand, a smile hovering on her lips. "See us down, Vliss."

Unheard, unseen, the Zephyr slipped through the planet's atmosphere, burrowing through the heavy cloud bank blanketing the continent. "What do we give the humans, Pilot?"

"Nothing."

 _The dragon has landed_. Saarania twirled her hair around a finger. The smooth curves of her fighter deflected all incoming radar signals. The engines emitted nothing but a blurred infrared signature; quiet and silent. "Will the hills north-west of the capital suffice, your eminence?"

"Why?"

"A disused aqueduct, a bearer of water to the low-lying lands around the capital, built in to the hillside, your eminence. Each archway is forty feet high and fifty feet across, with an inner sanctum of two hundred feet in length—"

"Very good, Vliss. Tell me, do we have the Wasp in the hold? Was it loaded prior to our departure?"

Vliss glanced up at Saarania's reflection. "I should imagine so, your eminence. It would not have been unloaded without your say-so."

"Very good." Saarania tapped her fingertips upon the side of her chair. "Very good. Take us in."

Rain poured across the viewport, blacking out all visual scanning. Under Vliss's guidance, the Rhazus nosed through the storm. Vliss performed a 180-degree manoeuvre, backing the Rhazus through the arch.

"What now, your eminence?"

"We procrastinate." Saarania's feet touched the deck. "Thank you, Vliss."

Booted, Saarania stepped down from the lowered ramp, directly behind Dragut and another Corsair. The bodyguards swept rail-mounted illumination around the landing site, performing a close-range sweep before widening their perimeter. "Two more out here. I want this area swept and secured." Saarania caught Vliss by the shoulder. "Will you be my second-in-command?" she said in his ear.

Vliss returned his long lasblaster to the magnetic attachment on his backplate. "Honoured."

"Then let the others do this. I want your criticism." Saarania drew Vliss away from the ramp as two more Corsairs disembarked.

Vliss snorted. "How does one criticise a princess and retain one's genitals?"

"Well, one must know that one's genitals are the least of one's worries when dealing with a princess." Saarania cocked her head to one side, biting her lower lip. "Don't ever betray me, Vliss."

Vliss bowed. "Treachery runs not amidst your company, your eminence. Here we are all your sons."

Saarania's eyes fell to the ground. _Sons. The little ones._ "Do they sleep?"

"As if cradled in their mother's bosom. I… I would ask after the Ranger."

"Do not. The matter will be raised at a later date. For now, we remain here. On the morrow, we extend feelers, gather knowledge and a feel for the climate in Norn." Saarania reached out for Vliss's arm and rubbed up and down.

"Nought but echoes here, your eminence," a Corsair called.

"Begin the unloading please, Vliss."

"At once, your eminence." Vliss trooped inside the Rhazus. _There is never not a time for Tai,_ Saarania said to herself. _How I shall miss Ulthyr's concoctions._

The storm had abated by the time the pods were offloaded and inflated, giving way to dark skies, the colour of slate. "I lament…" Saarania swirled a cup of steaming Tai and passed it to Vliss, sitting down beside him. "…The prince's loss for one reason only."

"Oh?" Vliss sniffed his cup.

"His Tai-brewing is unparalleled." Saarania sipped. "Mmm. Quite the artisan, he was."

"Well, I fear a great Tai-maker has been lost to the ages." Vliss drank. "Aah. One cannot claim to have ever sampled the prince's Tai." Vliss clinked his cup against Saarania's. "Only yours. Here's to a Tai-filled future."

"Port Maw was a dream, Vliss."

"Oh?"

Saarania smiled, a trace of sadness in her eyes. "I regret thinking on that scale. We must set our sights on lesser goals." She touched Vliss's cup with her own and drained it. "Here's to lesser goals."

"Fit for a princess."

"One without a fleet or warriors to her name."

"We have the _Rhazus,_ and we have the Wasp. How do you plan to use them?"

"What is the current worth of slaves with the Druchii cabals? How many for ships and mercenaries?"

"Ah, you ask of knowledge on sentient trafficking, your eminence. I cannot answer. I am sorry."

"Beings plucked from the streets of Norn may fetch a favourable price with the cabals, if a constant flow can be maintained."

"Slaves are not the real reason why we came here, are they, your eminence?" Vliss met Saarania's eyes. "This is about the Ranger. About the two younglings in your care."

Saarania's mouth became thin. Her knuckles whitened. "Oh, Vliss…"

"What is our action plan?"

"I… I must consult myself." Saarania rested her head in her hand.

"Shall I arrange an early breakfast?"

"Do what you wish, Vliss. I will remain here awhile and think." And think she did, her thoughts taking her outside the pods and along the arches. _Disused?_ Saarania brushed a waterfall with her fingertips. _Maybe it was the rain. How far does it fall?_ Saarania leant out of the next archway along. _Very far._ A river meandered away through the hills. _All the way to the city_.

Later, the children were brought before Saarania, and together they ate. "How did you sleep?" Saarania smiled, offering the twins a jug of juice. "Will you drink? You haven't touched your food." Neither accepted.

"May we walk in the open air, your eminence?" Ilic, like his brother, remained looking down at his platter.

"You may." Saarania waved away the two bodyguards that made to accompany them, shaking her head. _There is no danger here._ The twins held each other's hand on the walk along the archways, neither uttering a word. "Pay the edge of the precipice heed, children, it is a long way down." Saarania walked behind them. "Are you cold? The sun has yet to rise." Ilic muttered something. Korsarro's shoulders shook. _A joke?_ _I hope their spirits begin to rise._ At the end of the archways, where the stone met the rockface, the twins turned around and walked back in the direction of the ship. _Of course, they have been denied physical exertion and fresh air for too long. A detriment to one's mental health. Let them wander to their heart's content._

"Your eminence, may we ask you a question?"

 _Always we, never I. They truly are one entity._ "Of course. Ask." Saarania nodded at Dragut when she passed the ship. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if holding back on an urgent matter. _It can wait._

"Why can you not have children of your own?"

Saarania's heart sank. "Well, our breeding cycle can last from anywhere between three and twelve full cycles. Such a procedure can hurt the mother very dearly, and in many instances, she is unable to conceive. Bearing a child is regarded as the greatest act of affection between partners, an act I am unable to put my body through, though our love was strong…"

"Is that why your prince sent you away? Because you could not give him what he wanted."

A barbed tendril tightened around Saarania's gut. Her brows knitted together. _No, Ulthyr never wanted children. He never wanted a son to carry on the line._ Saarania touched her belly. _I am unfulfilled._ The twins now walked, hand in hand, back along the arches, leaving Saarania behind. _I am unfulfilled? The princess of the Void Dragons?_ Saarania hastened after the twins.

"Why do you want us to be your sons, your eminence?"

"Please, you are tired from the journey. Let us return to your quarters. Shall I have food brought to you?"

Ilic and Korsarro would not budge, and would only stand in the archway with the waterfall at their backs. In unison, they spoke. "You bring war to our mother."

"I bring _you_ to your mother, children."

"You bring shuriken and scatter laser in reckless regard. That which you cannot possess, you would obliterate."

"Please. I would see you by my side." Saarania knelt and opened her arms. "Come away, children. Return with me, your mother."

"Plead mercy when our mother finds you. It is all you have," the twins droned. The scream caught in Saarania's throat. Still holding on to one another, the twins backed in to the waterfall and fell. It was then Saarania knew, the thought crushing her heart in its pitiless hold. _They would die before they are mine._


	13. Chapter 13

**Regia Barracks, 08:03**

Five cots sat empty in the gymnasium. Four kitbags beside them were now ownerless. Stazak and only Stazak handled the missing men's affects. Knelt beside Drow's kitbag, Stazak shoved the gunner's rolled-up greatcoat and sewing kit inside, never mind that his hand was still wrapped up. The men of Battery B watched, silent, as the great green machine sucked up the names attached to the gear, dissolving any individuality they may have known in their short period belonging to someone. _Soon be another someone using this._ Stazak rubbed his thumb across the polished brass badge pinned to Drow's beret. _And another, and another. Do those lads think the Guard cares?_

"I'm to go look for 'em, sir," were Stazak's first words on entering Ahern's billet. Ahern, grey-faced, looked up from the letter he was writing. "I'm to go look."

"Denied, Bombardier. This must be carried up through the proper channels." Ahern glared. "Remain within this compound with the battery for further orders. That's all."

"Sir!" Stazak's heels slammed together. The rigid salute Stazak gave was held for a moment even after Ahern muttered a dismissal then, about-facing, Stazak marched out, shutting the door behind him. Ahern swiped the letter aside and dove face-first on to his folded arms. _Shit. Oh, shit, I've let them all down._ Ahern groaned. _What do I do?_ There were no operations scheduled for the morning, though half an hour's notice was all Ahern was given to brief his NCOs, and for them to organise the men if the battalion passed on orders from Regiment. _Five men._ Ahern cupped his chin in his hand. _GRA abduction? Assassination? Absent without leave even?_ Ahern's thoughts took him outside. Even with a woolly-pulley underneath his jacket, the wind still found a way to carry its cold fingers inside his clothes. "Sir." A Joparr guarding the para's vehicles saluted Ahern when he trudged by. _Joparr! Why aren't they out there looking for my missing men?_ Ahern imagined haranguing the lone sentry for the battalion's lack of activity. _Sheer pettiness on my behalf. Nothing to be gained from it._ Ahern passed by the sandbagged gatehouse and went out in to the street, skirting deep puddles in the gutter. Neither sentry, Joparr, called out to him. _Rather a loose adherence to barrack regulations, but what the hell._ Ahern patted his breast pocket. His cigarettes rattled inside the partly-crushed packet.

"Thank you for last night, by the way."

"Emperor!" Ahern dropped his cigarette in to a puddle. "You've got a way haven't you, woman?"

Lieutenant Pripinec sat upon a bench a little way down the street. A raincoat was spread underneath her.

 _Amelia and Luka last night._ Ahern tried with his second cigarette. "Thank you, I should say."

"Careful, it's wet there." Pripinec tugged a piece of her coat out from under her and covered a spot on the bench. "Think I may have caught a cold."

"Hm, can't have been from lack of warmth." Ahern dropped his lighter at his feet, the tiny flame promptly extinguishing.

"What troubles you? Tell me, Luka, you're all a bother this morning."

"Oh…" Ahern tutted. "You're not – you're not on ops today, are you?"

"Bird's being serviced. Are you?"

"No. You know, I hoped that because it's not all-out war here like it was on Platis, that we'd have it easy. A bit of light security. But, oh-no…"

"What happened?" Pripinec leant forwards, smoothing the creases on the back of Ahern's jacket.

"Five of my men, each on liberty last night, went missing." Ahern blew water from his lighter. "…Useless."

"Oh."

"And there's not a damned thing I can do about it." He shook his head. "We should be searching high and low, kicking in doors, questioning locals…"

"I'm sorry. Would you?" Pripinec held out her own cigarette. "No smoking indoors?"

"Not inside, no."

"And my crew chief has the nerve to do it around my bird." Pripinec crossed her legs, resting her arm upon her knee, her cigarette dangling from her fingers. "Smoking kills…"

"Your one and only problem," Ahern muttered.

"My dear, yours are rooted to the earth. There is no such simplicity in my world."

Ahern straightened up, glimpsing an OG smudge behind Pripinec. "My sergeant, Amelia."

"Lunch tomorrow?" Pripinec dropped her cigarette on the ground.

"Er, I'll take a note of that. Er…" Ahern stood up. A dampness now presided in the seat of his trousers. "Sergeant?"

Reimer, in barrack dress, approached from the direction of the gate. "Sir, O-Group in ten. Battalion OC in attendance. His office."

"Alright, thank you, Sergeant." Ahern tugged the hem of his jacket down, straightening the creases out. Pripinec blew him a kiss and rolled up her raincoat.

"Sorry for interrupting, sir. I was unable to determine your present location."

"Well, you've found it. Ten minutes you say, Sergeant?" Ahern passed back through the gate with Reimer alongside. Joparr watched them before turning eyes back towards the world outside the little enclave.

"Ten minutes until the battalion OC wants his officers on his location, sir."

"Any chance of a quick brew-up beforehand?"

"Not unless you want to drag in one of the gunners from their billet, sir. Your batman is among those AWOL-as-yet-undeclared-MIA."

Ahern bit the inside of his mouth. _Larn. Of course, I haven't seen him at all this morning, and he's about to be transferred out of the regiment._ "AWOL, you say, Sergeant?"

"I did say that, sir."

"Doesn't it seem odd that one man, on the verge of receiving new posting, should desert?"

"Honestly, if you want my honest opinion, sir, it doesn't. GRA could have snatched one or more, maybe. Except…"

"Except?"

"Wouldn't have happened had the lads not strayed out of bounds."

"What are you saying? That the five fell—"

"Off-grid, if you'll excuse me, sir. Then they fell afoul of the paramilitaries. Reckon it was on the west bank as well. We would've heard about it if it was closer to home. That's just my present hypothesis, sir."

"So, they might still be alive?"

"Wouldn't hold out hope…" Reimer held open the door to the battalion's headquarters. "Just sayin', sir. Hope for the best, plan for the opposite."

"Encouraging." Ahern raised his eyebrows and headed inside. Down in the school's basement, a white-washed arrangement of corridors each led to small, stuffy rooms, where field phones buzzed constantly. Ahern was admitted to the nucleus at the very end of the corridor after showing his ID to an MP. "Alright, sir. In you go." The MP tapped on the door, which beeped and slid upwards.

"Good of you to join us, Ahern." Major Delica sidled through yet more desks, these bearing the weight of desktop cogitators and hosting clerks in neat barrack dress. "Weren't turned off by the weather, were you?"

 _What's got his star riding so high?_ Ahern followed Delica to the battalion commander's office. _My men are out there and all he can chat about is the weather!_

"Lieutenant Ahern, Colonel."

Lieutenant Colonel Brecher sat not at his desk but leant against a tall filing cabinet behind his chair. Arms folded, Brecher growled. "Shut the door please, Delica." Ahern joined the ring of officers crowded in to Brecher's office and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Good morning to you all. Before we start, there's tea on the table over there. No tanna I'm afraid. We're poor." Major Delica and a few captains laughed. The younger subalterns, Ahern among them, kept their silence. "Oh, if you're after recaf, you can hand your commissions in to Major Delica." Ahern glanced at his feet as polite laughter spread through the subalterns. He shook his head when a warrant officer armed with tea came round to him. _Who drinks without milk anyway?_

Brecher waited for the tea-drinkers before continuing. "Now that we've had our orientation, I expect nothing but good conduct exercised by you and your men. We are here to provide security for the local populace, protect them from paramilitary action, and keep the GRA and other undesirables off the street." Brecher paused. "This is not Platis. There exists a state of civil unrest here due to rising tensions between rival paramilitary factions. Our presence is not one of an army intent on destruction. We are not the hammer."

 _I thought this was about my missing men._ Ahern zoned out of Brecher's speech, his eyes roved around the polished toecaps crowding the dirty floor. _God, doesn't anyone care?_

"…I'd like to say, sir, the men were rather bucked to be serving alongside Joparr Five Hundred again, especially after their sterling work on Platis." Ahern heard Delica say.

"Good, I'm very pleased to hear it," Brecher replied. "Let us look forward to the continued co-operation between our regiments during our tour here. Security work is considered by some a step back from protecting imperial interests, but rest assured, our presence on the street reassures. If we can look the locals in the eye, we will have gained their trust. That's all, gentlemen." _Is that it?_ Ahern stood still as the subalterns filed out. _Is that it?_

"Shall I bring GSO 2 in, sir?" Delica remained with Brecher. "Go over today's ops?"

"Mm." Brecher sipped tea from a cup and saucer. "First class brew… A problem, Lieutenant? By the Emperor, spit it out!"

"Ahern?"

"Sir, why aren't we out on the street looking for my missing men?"

Brecher placed his cup and saucer on his desk and lifted up a newspaper. "No connection, Lieutenant?"

"Sir?" _GRA strikes home turf,_ the headline read.

Brecher dropped the paper back on the desk and shook his head. "No, of course. A plain old whorehouse going up in flames on the other side of the river is no concern of ours…"

"Sir, he has a right to know." Delica folded his arms. "His gunners after all."

"To trim a tiresome tale down, Lieutenant, three bodies wearing military tags were found among the wreckage of the fleshpot. Their names correspond with the MIA in your battery. Another was found on this side of the river lying in an alley with a broken neck. There's your missing men, Lieutenant."

 _How the hell does he know that?_ Ahern's dry lips parted. "Good God, I…" _Four men? Five set out._ "Sir, one's still missing," Ahern babbled. "I am missing five—" A knock on the door interrupted him.

"Enter. Good morning, Sarn't Major. How are you?"

"Fine, Sir. Joparr's OC is here."

"Oh, good. Bring him in, Sarn't Major. Lieutenant, you're dismissed."

"Sir." Ahern made eyes at Delica. _Help me._ Delica looked away, uninterested. A hole opened up in Ahern's stomach. He pottered past the Joparr officer waiting outside, ignoring him, and left Headquarters in a daze.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Rogal Orisko, Officer Commanding Joparr 500 Parachute Battalion, patted a bulge in the hip pocket of his baggy smock. "Aah, no thanks, my friend. Here's my poison. Recaf."

"Compliments of the colonel, sir…" The warrant officer held out a cup and saucer timidly. "We're a bit tea-mad here."

"Excuse me, sir." The sergeant major came over from the battalion commander's office. "Colonel Brecher's waiting."

Orisko whipped his small vacuum flask from his pocket and brandished it in front of the quailing warrant officer. "Recaf solves everything, Sergeant Major." He grinned.

"Rogal. So nice to see you." Brecher swept around his desk and shook Orisko's hand. "Some privacy here please, Major."

"Sir." Delica nodded at Orisko and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Breaker."

"Aha! He remembers. Well said, sir." Brecher clapped Orisko on the forearm. "And immediately I can see a problem."

"Tea-drinkers. Nobody like that in Five Hundred."

"Stronger tastes?" Brecher picked up his tea.

"Medium-strength roast." Orisko unscrewed the cup from the top of his flask and poured himself a drink. "Toast?"

"Platis."

"Lairs and Five Hundred." Orisko clinked his mug against Brecher's cup. "Mmm… More like three."

"Ah… How are you for manpower?" Brecher turned back to his desk and set his empty cup down.

"295 paras standing. Every unit from my HQ down is understrength, with the exception of my mortar platoon. We have the men but not the mortars. It's the same with the other troops in Support Company. Nothing larger than small-arms."

"Ha! The frustration is mutual, Rogal. I have the men but not a single anti-aircraft gun. We've nothing larger than some old L4s and the IM's on the Chariots, and I'd rather not have to grovel at the governor's feet to borrow his armour."

"What's this I'm hearing about a bombing on the western bank?" Orisko picked up the paper from Brecher's desk. "Bit off-topic I know…"

"Not at all. We're still digging in to this further. All we know so far is that four of my gunners were among the casualties. The gen came from undercover officers this morning."

"Swear to the Emperor!" Orisko licked his forefinger and turned the page. "Dead or wounded?"

"Three of mine dead in the bombing. One more on our side of the city."

"Another bombing?"

"A mugging gone wrong? Deliberate murder? Who knows?" Brecher ran a finger around the inside of his collar. "You know, I preferred it when the enemy wore uniforms. I look out my window and I see people in the street; just people. Any one of them could be GRA. Talking of which, our chogeys… That's only just occurred to me, you know."

"Okay, err… May I smoke please, Breaker?"

"Not in here, Rogal. Stinks the place out."

"Very well." Orisko leant upon his fists. "Will you take some off-kilter advice?"

"Hmph, depends."

"Okay, firstly, move Lairs away from the city, as far away from day-to-day civilian contact as possible. Exist as a lone entity. Have even your dirtiest tasks performed by your own personnel."

"Well, now…"

"Imitate the government troops' policy."

"Drag suspects off the street? We're not the Tin Men, Rogal. We're the enforcers. Unless the GRA take overt action against us, we can do nothing. The threat of force is our primary weapon. We are not the hammer."

"Punch Graw in the heart. Take your battalion across the river on a beat-up op. Smash in to the slums, ride around making the noise. Show those Norn lowlifes who the real enforcers are."

"Rogal! I'm short a few digits on my salary to be thinking that big."

Orisko slapped his hand upon the desk. "Proof of murder! Those soldiers killed in the bombing. The soldier murdered in the alley. Were they mine I'd bring the hammer down. Reprisals enacted—"

"We are the Imperial Guard, Rogal. We are above such brutality. Let the Tin Men and government forces carry that stench in their shoulders. I will not have my battalion's reputation tarnished."

"Maybe we see how the lord general deals with this, huh?" Orisko shrugged.

"Such decisions can only be decided by the lord general himself, Rogal. His word, our orders."

"Yeah, well I am fully behind taking my battalion in to the slums and bringing the boot down."

"Well, you'll have to explain it to the lord general."

"If you won't, I will."

Brecher scratched his chin. "Five. The missing men's battery commander mentioned five men were missing."

"So?" Orisko scowled.

"I think GRA took him."

"Who? Where is this information coming from? You say undercover officers. Do they report directly to you?"

Brecher brushed his receding hairline and sighed. "Local informants paid by these officers provide us with updates. All of it is sent through a drop my officers collect every morning. Better to preserve their identity."

"Is their intelligence reliable?"

"…The situation is confused, though right now restraint should be exercised. If GRA has one of mine hostage, it is paramount the lord general is briefed. Negotiation must be considered."

"There'll be no negotiation, Breaker. Not with Graw—"

"You do not know that—"

"You cannot fight an insurgency politely! Bondo rules are null here."

"The lord general—"

"I'm talking to my colonel first. You talk to yours, see how far up the chain of command this runs. Is your commissar aware of this?"

"Is yours?"

"Unless he can transmit from beyond the grave…" Orisko popped a cigarette in to his mouth and made for the door, turning back to Brecher before he stepped out. "I still wouldn't listen though. Goodbye."

Brecher puffed out his cheeks. "Shit…"

* * *

The clatter of the wheels upon the tracks gradually subsided until a jolt brought the car to a standstill. Squashed inside the pipe, I extracted myself from the painful foetal position and stuck my head out of the end. _Where are we?_ A chill breeze greeted me. Grey skies threatened to burst over my head. "Aahh." I worked my fingers in to the channel above the small of my back. _Can't have done my back any good._ Raindrops were smeared underneath my hands as I wriggled from the pipe. _Dogs?_ I froze at the animal's bark. Between the twin buffers and couplers was a gap, through it I dropped, jagged stones biting at my hands. _Where the hell?_ I squinted through a thin haze of grey dust. A soldier clad in black trotted alongside a row of flat wagons stacked with shipping containers, a slobbering hound dragging at the lead he held. A muzzle poked out from above his shoulder. _Who's that?_

The dog sniffed at the ground, slobber from its chops. "Got something, boy?" The soldier, in hard cover and facemask, jerked the lead. The dog's ears flicked. It gave a bark and took off along the tracks. It leapt up on to its hind legs and pawed at the side of a nondescript container a short way along the line. The soldier blew a whistle and unslung a lasgun. "Let's get this cracked open and emptied now, boys," he cried to a foursome of soldiers, all in the same black, running up. A fifth, this one in a black beret, produced a short metal rod and climbed on to the car. He tapped the door. "Hmm? Mmm-hmm." The officer pressed his ear against it and nodded. "Open her up, Corporal."

"Sir." One of the dog-handlers passed his lead off to another soldier and climbed up to the officer. Taking the bar, the corporal jammed it in to a slot and levered it upwards.

"Put your back in to it!" The dogs were straining on their leads, making an almighty racket. Spittle flew. Tongues lolled. Maws snapped open and shut. Nothing stirred on the opposite side of the train. I clawed my way out from under the wheels and lay flat beside the tracks. _Which way?_ I craned my neck and peered at an overhead gantry. A winch dangled from two wires. Water dripped from the end of the hook.

"Dry haul, sir."

"Dry haul. Try that one."

"Sir." The corporal rammed his bar in to the lock and wrested the container door on the next car along open. He shone a torch, mounted to the shoulder of his body armour, through the crack. "Fugees, sir, full haul."

"Smoke." The officer caught a smoke grenade another tossed up to him and dumped it inside the container, shutting the door afterwards. "Let them stew for a minute. Hold the dogs back. Corporal, vox for TUMs, snatch type."

"Sir!" _Fugees? Refugees from what?_ I put my cheek against the gravel. _What's a TUM?_

"Time," said the officer. "Batons out. Keep the dogs for runners. Alright, Private, throw it open." Smoke poured out of the container. First one then another refugee, clad in rags and choking, tumbled out. "Clear them out. Keep them moving." The officer stepped back as his men waded in, batons dropping upon the steady stream of bodies all falling over one another, desperate to get out of the choking furnace. "Line them up. Face-down!" _Shit, there's women and children there._ I winced at a soldier kicking the floored refugees, one by one. _Why?_ "Right, bring them in to the cages." _Cages?_ Four stout, four-wheeled cars with black armour-plating rolled in to view. Each one had their rear doors thrown open. Empty cages were inside. Batons met flesh as the soldiers kicked and pummelled the refugees inside. One of the handlers lost his grip on a lead. A dog galloped at a refugee and launched itself at her, to the soldiers' amusement. _Why are they doing this?_ I watched each door slam on the caged refugees, and the vehicles reverse. _Maybe they'll show me the way out._ I crawled forwards on my elbows, rising to my knees and scooting forwards, parallel with the convoy. " _Shit_." I dove back underneath the flatcars. A dog handler rounded the end of the row, his lead taught. "Ow." I caught my shoulder on the underside of the car. The last vehicle in the convoy had reached the end of the flatcars. _I'm losing them._ " _Mmph_." The top of my head struck something. The snatch vehicle made the turn and disappeared from view. _Nothing for it_. I squeezed out from underneath the car. Gravel crunched underneath my boots. My blistered heels tore at the coarse inner lining.

"Runner!" A whistle tooted. Deep, booming barks rang out.

"Let them have their hunt, boys!" Flapping paws and sharp panting closed in on me. I leapt up on to the opposite row of cars where the containers were stacked and slipped through to the other side, dropping down in to a narrow corridor. Behind me, dogs burrowed through the gaps underneath the cars, scratching at the ballast with their claws. My stomach heaved. I retched and threw up, splattering the toecaps of my boots. Where the tracks cut through a road, I turned left, catching a glimpse of the snatch vehicles leaving by a wide gateway. Broad walls with sharp spikes on top formed a tight boundary around the railway yard. Once the vehicles had turned out on to a road, circular poles rose from holes in the ground, barring any influx of traffic. Squat, three-storey buildings overlooked the gateway. A gatehouse, open at the back, held a mounted gun and a sentry. At ground level, a single armed soldier stood guard behind a steel barricade. _Shit, how do I get past him?_ I fell behind a ferrocrete traffic blocker. Steel ground upon steel. The gate began sliding sideways. The soldier glanced over his shoulder and moved away from his post, entering a guardroom. I sucked in a lungful of air. My grip on the edges of the ferrocrete tightened. I licked my dry lips and ran. Barks, animal and human, pursued me. Through the poles, I tore. With inches to spare, I made the gap and fell out in to the street. "Runner!" The sentry in the tower shouted. I careered in to a woman walking a baby in a pram. Pieces of brick wall exploded above my head, stinging my eyes. Both child and mother screamed.

"Hold your fire!" A faint voice bawled. I jumped on to a wheeled bin and vaulted over a wall. My ankles burned. A mound of rubbish I trod on groaned.

"Sorry." I darted away from the moving mound, putting several turns between it and me before pulling up. With nothing left to lose from my stomach, I bent double and dry-heaved, panting. Needles burst inside my legs. Numbness spread up and down, from my hips to my feet. "…No." I scrabbled at the bricks, a shiver taking my body. A low growl rose. I froze. A hound padded around the corner at the far end of the alley. Its ears twitched. A pair of black eyes stared at me. Jaw trembling, I shivered. Another hound appeared behind, taking its time as if savouring the hunt. I punched my thigh and hobbled away from the beasts. The gentle pitter-patter of their paws became a brisk trot. I dug my hand in to vines growing up the wall and pulled myself around a corner. "Shit!" The flagstones rushed up to me. I rolled on to my back and scrambled up against a pile of wet binbags spilling from a stinking, fly-infested container. Long, wet tongues flapped over broken, yellow teeth. Claws clacked upon the stones. "Mother…" I screwed up my face and shut my eyes, growls filling my ears. Sniffs and soft whines replaced the growls. I opened my eyes to see the dogs backing away, their ears flat against their heads. Both tails flicked between their legs. With their backs to the wall, the beasts sat and placed their heads on their paws. A blur moved inside my vision. A blur in a fur-lined, hooded jacket. "Remain the victim." The woman offered her hand. "Or stand and take action." I swallowed and reached for her cold skin, my fingers finding hers. Almost on tiptoes, I lurched as the woman hauled my arm over her shoulders. The steel body of her rifle pinched and dug in to my side. The hounds, both silent, watched us leave.

"I 'aven't forgiven you."

"Neither expected, needed, or wanted."

"That lad weren't a bad person."

"Now, you need to understand. Or has naivety shielded you in its bosom for too long?" The woman dragged me through a covered tunnel that climbed above a road. Scraps of sodden newspaper coated the floor. I peeped through the grimy glass at the road below. _Shit, it's a right warzone here. Worse in daylight._ "They are looking for you."

"Uh?" I closed one eye and looked up at a skylight. Cylindrical rocket pods nestled in the crook of a gunship's wings. "They're looking for _you_." The woman flashed her teeth. "Don't think I'm taking you to the Stonehill either. Not if you're gonna hurt Risto's family." The woman seized my jumper, lifting me off my feet and slamming me back in to the wall. Bright lights spun around my eyes. My legs became weightless.

"Wrong." The woman's eyes settled on my stained boots, a foot from the ground. A sneer darted across her lips. She let go. I slid downwards and collapsed on to my buttocks. I slipped a hand inside the back of my boot and rubbed my heel. "You cannot even walk."

"I can't see."

The woman unloaded her rifle, collapsed the stock, and popped two retaining pins from the body. In two pieces, the weapon fitted in amongst the ammunition. "I believe you owe me gratitude. Blindness cannot shield you."

"Yeah, he ate human flesh. So what? That don't give you the right to go at him like that!"

"One less undesirable clinging to the underbelly of human society means nothing to me." The woman zipped up her jacket. "Stand up."

 _She's got a pint of black tar where her heart is._ "It's coming and going. A bit blurry."

"Mild concussion. Blindness brought on by emotional stress. There is no great risk to your life, human, as much as you play it up."

"Concussion that _you_ gave me!" Red-faced, I fumbled with my loose boots. The woman grabbed my upper arm and pulled me up. Above us, the gunship dipped its wing and flew off. Beneath the stairs, a line of homeless people sat with their backs to a chainlink fence. Around them were empty pots. _Poor blokes. Don't even have proper shoes._ I patted my trouser pockets.

"Had a rough night?" A considerably more well-off local swaggered up to us. Despite his blue greatcoat being bereft of every single brass button, the man had shaved and did not smell.

"Looked the wrong way at the wrong fella."

"Hello, lovely. What's hiding under that hood then?" The woman unzipped her jacket and pulled a corner back. The local's eyebrows rose.

"You have a nice day now, ma'am." He backed away.

"Knife or gun?" I said once the local had retreated.

"Does it matter?" The woman consulted her map then pointed up at a tall hab-block rising above the rooftops. "There. The ferrocrete tower stands alone. Have you the exact location of this refuge you speak of?"

"Nah, I just know Risto lives somewhere 'ere."

"Here? Do you mean the Stonehill?" The woman's finger tapped the map.

"Yes, the Stonehill." I caught the eyes of some locals across the street. Smashed bottles sat amidst piles of glass at their feet. "Sticking out a bit, aren't we? Bloody eyes everywhere."

"Pfft, let them observe. Beings here are accustomed to day-to-day violence surely. It is part of their culture."

"Yeah…" I looked at my boots. "Right, let's go."

"Your laces are undone."

" _Number ten. Big lies_." I wiggled my toes. "Won't get nowhere tarradiddlng, our stickie."

Forty storeys of rain-drenched ferrocrete tore a gash in the skyline. Bulges in the outer walls were interlaced with cracks. A pedestrian walkway and a single rail line, both elevated, ran deep inside the Stonehill's neck. Four traffic lanes separated us from some steps leading up to a double door at ground level.

"Look both ways, yeah." The woman looked neither left nor right and stepped out in to the road. "Oh, shit." Five of the black vehicles peeled off from an overpass, the slipway carrying them down to us. Four were the vehicles used to snatch civilians. The fifth, riding in centre of the convoy, was a six-wheeler, packing a short-barrelled cannon inside a square turret. _Who are they, PDF?_ A stubber fixed to a remote-controlled mount atop the armoured car's turret swung our way and continued to track us as the convoy rolled past. I sucked air through my teeth. _C'mon, hold your fire. Nothing to see here._ My heart stepped up to do a jig inside my chest. With the last vehicle past, we made the short distance to the wide steps and the hab's entrance.

"Here dwell hundreds of families. How do—?"

"Hang about." I pointed at columns of square buttons fitted to a panel in the wall beside the door. Beside the buttons were names printed in miniscule font upon slots of laminate paper. _Aah, only surnames._ I trawled the list of residents. Each surname had a single initial of the owner's first name printed after it. "Lemme go. I can walk." I shrugged off the woman's arm.

"Strange how it becomes easier, the closer to home you are…" The woman put out a hand when I stumbled. "The human's second name?" The woman turned her head away from two people leaving the entrance; a middle-aged man and woman.

"I dunno. Help me look for r's."

"For what?!"

"R's. _Rrrrrrr_." I ran a finger up a column.

"No, no I have another way."

"Well, iggery then 'cause we'll get done for loitering otherwise."

"Iggery…?"

"Fast."

"This will hurt."

"What—?" Needles jabbed at the backs of my eyeballs. The woman took my hand and jabbed it at a button with the name _Wendt. R._

"Your friend awaits. Do use a tactful tone, human."

"…Bugger Throne, you coulda warned me." I worked my jaw up and down. "How did you…?"

" _Hello?_ " A woman's voice sounded from a small speaker set at face-level.

"Hello… Erm, um… I'm looking for Risto." I crossed my middle finger over my index.

"… _Who's looking for Risto?"_

"I'm a friend of his from over the river."

" _Risto has no friends on the eastern bank_."

"That's his wife," I mouthed. "Tell Risto I think his latest poster, the one with the blood-red thug wi' the cosh and the slogan pax imperialis is a stonker."

A pause. " _Are you alone?_ "

"Yeah." The woman's jaw tightened. A thin eyebrow arched.

" _He is asleep_."

"R-right, thanks." A crackle on the other end broke the link. I raised my eyebrows at the woman and nodded. "Okay."

Inside the Stonehill's atrium were two lifts and a single set of stairs heading straight up the hollow building. Out-of-order signs were stuck on both doors. _Oh, God, the smell_. Weak lights cut through a very fine haze filling the atrium. Homeless sat against the walls, on top of and behind a counter where a key-keeper may have sat once. Many more lined the stairs. _If they can't loiter out there then they're loitering in here_.

"Which floor?"

"Again?" The woman leant closer for me to whisper in her ear.

" _Which. Floor?_ "

" _Not here. The walls listen_." Deeper inside the hab's stomach, the haze and the homeless thickened. _Is it poorer, the further up we go?_ I tugged the rolled neck of my jumper up over my nose. The extractor fans on every floor didn't seem to be working either. Some floors had no lighting at all.

" _Here_." The woman extended her arm across me and pointed at a straight corridor with doors on both sides, identical to every other floor below. I leant over the iron railing and looked down at the successive rows of light bulbs in the shaft, growing dimmer and dimmer. The woman touched my shoulder and guided me away from the railing. " _Now is not the time_."

 _409._ The simple, three-digit number was mounted upon a dull metal plaque in the centre of the door. Above was a spyhole. "Stay back, yeah?" I knocked.

"Press the…" The woman jabbed a finger at a palm-pad in the wall. "Press the pad!"

"Ssh! C'mon, Risto, open up, lad. Just me out here." A short click inside and the door opened. Risto, his long hair matted and greasy, stood there in a nightshirt. "What are you doing here? You're in a right state." Risto looked me up and down, his nose wrinkling. He sniffed. "Is that you?"

"Aw, Risto, mate, I've been 'aving nightmares." I shook my head, my hands clasping my elbows. "Didn't know where else to come."

"Alright, alright." Risto raised his hands then called back to his wife. "It's alright, Talia. I know him."

"Risto, I've got another 'ere. She's a friend of mine." The woman clenched her right hand.

"Friend. Who?" Risto lurched back. "Her?"

"Listen, we both hate Graw. That makes us pals, yeah? I promise we'll be gone first thing. We just need a safe place for the mo'."

"I can't let you two in."

The woman barrelled at Risto, bowling him backwards over a worn couch. "Shut the door behind you."

I slapped the panel and rushed round to Risto. "Sorry, mate. Best keep quiet 'bout this now. The less you know the better—" A woman gasped. I looked up at Risto's wife, dressed in a boiler suit, standing there carrying a very young child in her arms.

"Make not a sound!" The woman spat. "Calm your offspring and sit."

"Talia, sit!" Risto squeaked.

"Go to your wife. Contain her affliction. Say nothing." The woman patted Risto down then pushed him at Talia. Both fell down on to another sofa, in equal distress as its partner was. There they clung to one another, the infant nestled in their arms. "Sit down!" The woman placed the ammunition behind the couch I sat on and drew back her jacket, displaying her holstered weapons. Talia burrowed her head in to Risto's chest.

I perched on the edge of the couch. "You know me, alright. I'm a soldier, ma'am. I… I can explain this…" I touched my dirty bandage. "Uhh, this is…"

"Are there more of you here? Nod or shake your head." Risto shook his head.

"I was at the Belladonna. Maybe you 'eard it on the news or saw it in the paper. Me and some mates o' mine were out of bounds—"

"Cease such long-winded babble. Inform your friend that no harm will come to his family, on the condition that no word that passes here goes beyond these walls."

"I'm tellin' them what the hell happened at the Belladonna."

The woman slammed her hands upon the back of the couch, directly behind my head. "The human rebels detonated a bomb. There is no argument!" she snarled.

I twisted around, giving me a look at her flared nostrils. "We gave 'em the bomb. Bloody plainclothes intelligence delivered it to Graw." My voice rose to match hers.

"Irrational!"

"I saw it!"

"…Would you like a tea?"

Teeth grinding against each other, I shot Risto a look. "Yes!"

"Alright." Risto bobbed his head. "Alright then."

"Please."

The woman's fingernails were white. Lips pursed, she straightened up. Talia clung to Risto's arm, refusing to let go. "Ssh, it's alright, Talia. You take Eamonn and go."

"Go, go where?" I stood up, snatching a peek at the woman. Her hand dove inside her jacket.

"I work nights. Talia works during the day. She teaches." Risto hovered, eying the woman.

" _Don't. Don't_." I gesticulated at the woman. " _Let her go_. It's alright, Risto. Your missus can go to work." The woman withdrew her hand and dived in to her bag.

"Risto?" Talia rocked Eamonn gently.

"I've got him, dear. You go get ready now." Talia sniffed, blew her nose, and ran in to a tiny bedroom. She came out a moment later with a small satchel and a baby-carrier. "It's alright. Dry your eyes, Tali. I'll be fine here." Risto fixed the straps around Talia and placed Eamonn in the carrier. "There." Risto brushed a strand of hair over Talia's ear. "Here, take my tissues."

"What if they see me like this. What will I say?"

"You're afraid for Eamonn after the bombings. Nobody on the planet will question a mother fearing for her child. Nobody. Hmm?" Risto kissed Talia's cheek and helped her to the door.

"Your eyes." The woman attracted Talia's attention.

"My eyes?" Talia turned Eamonn away from her. "Oh…" She blinked sleepily then smiled. "Have a nice day, Risto. Remember the vegetables, dear."

"Talia?" Risto paled.

"Bye now." Talia planted a kiss on Risto's mouth. "Say bye, Eamonn. Ooh-ooh." She waved Eamonn's little hand. The second the door shut behind Tali, Risto rounded on the woman and balled a fist.

"What did you do to her?"

"Alright, alright, Risto." I leapt up from the couch and stepped between the two. "She hypnotised her, that's all. Talia's forgotten about us. She's forgotten about us."

"Hogwash."

"Remember when I met you on the waterfront? I couldn't remember what happened before. She hypnotised me."

"Why? Who are you?"

"Okay, okay, let's 'ave char first. D'you mind putting on a brew, Risto?" Risto stormed over to a kitchen unit occupying the length of one wall and filled a rusted kettle with water and set it upon a stove to boil. " _Siddown_ ," I whispered. The woman batted my hand away from her sleeve.

"Restrain that creeping hand of yours," she muttered, loosening her collar.

"You're Eliza James…"

The woman gave a sigh and shoved an identity card at me. _Tyssa Marchent. Where did she get that from? Hang on, that picture looks nothing like her._

"That's a phoney!" _Even I can see that._ The icy stare the woman gave me turned red. _I'll be seeing steam shooting out of her ears in a minute._

"Milk?"

"Yes, mate." _Maybe out of her eyes too._ A pair of tin mugs clinked upon a low table separating Tyssa and I from Risto. "You alright, Risto?"

Risto had a stoppered bottle held against the side of his head. "I've got two strangers sitting opposite me, one of whom is a soldier, the other, well I have never met a woman as rude as she is, barging in to my house! Threatening my family."

"Be grateful I stopped at threats."

"Who is she?" Risto scowled.

I sipped at the steaming tea. "Tyssa. AdMech. She pulled me out of the Belladonna. Patched me up." I pointed at my bandage.

"Just AdMech?"

"Cult Mechanicus," Tyssa passed her ID in front of Risto.

"AdMech ID looks nothing like that. It's not even your face!"

"Risto, let it go. She's not AdMech, alright."

"What's underneath her hood?"

"Risto, you look like shit, mate. You'd better lie down. Talk about this later, yeah?"

"I want her to leave. Take what you want. We don't own much."

"She's not a thief, Risto!"

"Can you guarantee that?"

"She's not a bad person. She wants to be here just as much as I do."

Risto rubbed the bottle over his face. "Please. I don't want to see her when I wake up."

"Nah, you won't, Risto. You doss down now. We'll be quiet." I looked at Tyssa. "We'll be quiet, yeah?"

Tyssa relaxed her grip upon the knife inside her jacket and sat back on the couch. Her eyes never left Risto. Only when he disappeared in to the bedroom did Tyssa move round to her bag and remove the two halves of her rifle from within. "No windows." I manoeuvred a finger underneath my bandage and felt around. " _Ahhh_." Tyssa pulled a worn cloth from the back of the sofa Risto had sat upon and spread it over the table. Upon the surface, she laid her rifle, a brush, a cleaning rag, and a small can of oil.

"Not one word."

"Pfft." I put my tea down and reached for my damp laces. Tyssa drew the charging handle and bolt from the rifle's upper. I jumped at a crisp click of the chamber cover snapping open. Setting the empty shell aside, Tyssa turned the bolt over in her hands. "She on your list?" I untangled my loose laces and wiggled my feet free.

"What did I say?"

"That other stickie; the woman. I don't reckon that artillery behind me is for anyone 'ere." The backs of both ankles sported fat blisters. Patches of bright red skin covered my feet.

Tyssa applied a dab of oil to her cloth and rubbed it upon the where the bolt's surfaces showed wear. "You would do well to distance yourself from my affairs."

"I'm watching you strip and clean a rifle. You're not just doin' it for laughs."

"Stray not in to this one's affairs." Rigid lines appeared in Tyssa's neck. "You of limited perspective, distorted perception."

"You're not gonna touch that?" I nodded at Tyssa's mug.

"…Uh." Tyssa's hand froze.

"No then." I took the mug and tilted the brim towards my mouth. "Mmm, good char. Don't know what you're missing…"

"A meagre sampling of blandness." Tyssa placed her eye to the open end of her rifle's upper receiver and looked down the inner barrel. "Bring the bag to me." I leant backwards. Springs inside the thin cover dug in to my shoulders. The couch creaked when my feet left the floor. I swirled the dregs around the bottom of the mug and set it beside its twin. The knife, a blur, embedded itself in the table. I yelped and clawed at the bone handle. Tyssa's hands were upon the rifle's lower receiver. "Had I willed it, I would have taken your hand."

"God, you…" I jiggled the knife. Tyssa knocked my hand away and yanked the knife free. "You'd better apologise to Risto for denting his table. It's his 'ouse…"

Oil bottle in hand, Tyssa paused. Her head tilted to one side. "His…?"

"His 'ouse." I pulled back my right sleeve. Dried cuts and scrapes ran up my hand, along my wrist, and up my forearm. "His _house_. What did you think I said?" Her mouth a tight line, Tyssa applied spray to the rifle's trigger group and flicked the safety switch. Flushing, I brought the two mugs over to the kitchen unit and deposited them in a small sink. _Cosy, this ain't._ Three-dimensional relief tiles, faded from their original white, ran in a double row above a narrow shelf holding food containers, a portable heater, and an old whisk. The entire kitchen unit was one piece, with everything as barren as it could be. Dirty dishes sat waiting to be cleaned. A miniature cupboard at the back of the shelf was half open. I pushed aside a basket holding processed food wrappers and boxes. _Cereal?_ I picked out a cardboard box and shook it. _Sorry, Risto._ I rootled through the overhead cupboards, bringing down a metal bowl and a spoon. I limped back to the couch and sat. " _Hurts_." I rubbed the back of my ankle. The ammunition bag was open at Tyssa's feet. She twirled a cleaning rod in her fingers then fed a strip of cloth through a hole in the tip.

"Lesson. Rest and eat when and where you can." Tyssa pushed the cleaning rod through the rifle's barrel. "Eat. Rest. See to your injuries." I grunted and poured a shapeless mass from the box in to the bowl. "Words dance upon the tip of your tongue, human."

"Not one word…?" I shovelled in cereal. _Urgh, stale_. "That's what you said, weren't it?" Tyssa fixed a hook attached to a length of bungee cord around a sling point behind the rifle's body. I tapped the side of my spoon against the edge of the bowl. "I can't understand you…"

"Likewise."

"You attack me, you knock me out, you bandage me, then you're coming at me again wi' that knife."

"Believe me, stranger things have happened in recent weeks." Tyssa frowned.

"What's brought the red down over your eyes then?"

"Again, I cannot…"

"What that woman do to make you come 'ere and sell those weapons?"

"Do not."

"Uh?"

"Do not speak of that creature."

"Fine." I spooned the cereal. "Just, you're angry…"

"A fine observation for a human to make. Now, it is your turn to answer. Speak truth."

"I'll speak _the_ truth if that's what you mean." I shrugged. "I never shot any real person. I can't swim, can't drive, I'm underweight, I can't bend over properly because of a spinal injury. I'm left handed, left-footed, and couldn't give a shit about numbers or me letters. My name's—"

"Real person. By that you mean human, human?"

"Orks. I've done Orks a-plenty." I shook my head, my eyes on my toes. "I can't do humans. Not me own people."

"Then you are forever condemned to play the victim. If you cannot kill, you are a corpse with the temporary use of the arms and legs. It is a hard heart that kills, not the weapons you carry."

A ripple scoured my flesh. "How easy is it? Does it feel normal, I mean?"

A shadow passed across Tyssa's face. "I dream of it."

"I dream of home."

"You have a home to return to."

"Uh-uh, a Guardsman never returns. S'what me dad said. He weren't in boots but my grandad was. And he, me dad, tells me my grandad got out 'cause he won a lottery, see. Or actually he didn't. A bloke he knew won and gave the ticket to me grandad. That let him go home."

"Your grandfather never spoke about it?"

"Nah 'cause he did the guy who got the ticket and went home instead."

"So, he won, at the expense of another." Tyssa aligned the rifle's upper and lower and popped the pins back in. "Shrewd."

"I'm not me grandad."

"You will be."

"What if I get wasted today or tomorrow? I'll go out knowing I weren't a bad person like you."

"You are protected. Your almighty has his plans, as do I." Tyssa brought a box labelled _.300 Nightfall_ out on to the table and opened the lid. "Of course, if your almighty existed…"

"Don't talk about the Emperor." I set the empty bowl aside and placed a hand over my heart. "He's where you can't get to him."

"So human of you. You cannot even protect yourself, let alone your friends." Tyssa produced a tool and loosened a nut on the front and rear sights, folding them down.

"And where are your friends?"

"They are no friends of mine. They led themselves to failure. Failure for me is death, and I have little time for it." Upon the narrow ridges that ran along the top of the body, Tyssa aligned an optic and screwed it on. Next to the rifle, she laid a stub pistol.

"That's don't belong to you."

"None of what I wear or carry on my person belongs to me. Rangers own no property. They hold no loyalty to their birthplace, and give their hearts to no-one. The path they take is of their choosing, one without constraint imposed by their craftworld."

 _Craftworld?_ "That belonged to my mate Art. He's all I had. Then, the Crotch did him 'cause we were in the wrong place at the wrong time." I squeezed my eyes shut. A shooting pain throbbed in my back.

"The…?" Tyssa gave me a sideways look. "What ails you?"

"I'm stuck in a windowless room with a short-fused stickie packing enough whammo to put an RSM in orbit." I picked up my left foot and rested it on my right knee.

"Short-fused? A malady of the head holds no sway over the integrity of your spine."

"Hmph." Tyssa slid the pistol across the table at me, keeping her hand over it. "You take it for granted, don't you?" Tyssa stared at me with half-lidded eyes. Her hand remained upon the pistol. "First time away from home and I ended up in a very bad place, drowning in bodies of men and Orks. They did me, Mister Green did. Slotted me right in the back. Chipped my spine. I dragged meself out of no-man's land on my stomach. You know what 'appened to me after that? Nothing. I had a month in Cain Med then I'm back on my feet. Did it make me a better person…? Nah."

"The Webway portal."

"I dunno. Guess I went down the wrong tunnel." I reached out for the pistol. Tyssa pulled it away.

"You contradict yourself."

"What?"

"You will not harm your own people. Your own words."

"My own people, yeah."

"Is that a threat?"

"You've got the guns." I yawned and stretched my arms behind my head. "And the ammo."

"Not to be wasted on the worthless." Tyssa pushed a thin tab on the pistol's lower downwards and slid the upper receiver off. I rolled my trouserlegs up and moved to the sink. Cold water spat from the single tap, fluctuating between a trickle and a gush. I ran my mug underneath the tap, flicked the dregs away and filled it up. "Savin' it for something that matters."

"No business of yours, human. You are a means to an end."

"Yeah, cheers." I picked up a two-week-old newspaper lying beside the stove. _Strikes Intensify. Governor Malkara cuts deal with Imperium_. _Obscura shipment discovered in morgue._ "Hmm." I chewed at my bottom lip. The dirty plates caught my eye. _That might work._ I filled the kettle up and set it upon the stove.

"Your kind has a certain fascination with that liquid."

"The Cr – the Guard runs on tea. That and promethium." I turned the dial up. Not long after, the kettle shrieked. I plugged the sink and poured the boiling water in. _Soap anywhere?_ I poked at a grey brick lying in a round tray behind the tap. _Feels like stone_. "Take action, you said? Well, I'm taking it now." I picked up a plate, put it in the water, and dropped the brick in after it. Glistening suds stuck to my hands and arms. Each plate I piled on the worktop, the clean very quickly taking the place of the dirty. _That just about does it_. I turned the last pot upside down and put it on the worktop to drain. The water, though warm, was now a murky brown. I submerged my arms. The cuts and grazes on my skin prickled. _Oh, that's good. Shame there's no shower._ My shoulders shook. _No, not that._ The splash of ice-cold water seeped in to my ears. Duckboards grew from the floor. Laughing voices and animal sniffles surrounded me.

" _Do you hear it? That ringing in your ears. The swarm of locusts devouring your mind from within._ " Tyssa's voice flowed in to my ear. " _The mind's death throes. Your time draws near. Hear the clock ticking down from life to death."_

" _Don't do this. Don't do this."_ Razorblades danced along my spine.

A hoarse, alien voice preyed inside my ears. " _Your path runs with the blood of many mortals. Haras na kiam. Hand-in-hand you walk with death. Eaxamath Ann. Your world is a maelstrom of blood, choking in fire, drowning in the tears of mortals, crying for the souls of the lost. Iem vyyal carrec. You will never know peace, talamh-kotos."_ A pair of eyes, one bloodshot, the other golden, flashed. "DIE!"

"…said she'd be gone when I woke up!" Risto's face hovered above me. "Hello?" He shook my shoulder.

"Urgh, Risto?" I blinked through sticky eyes. "What time is it?"

"Four after noon. What have you done to your feet?"

"Uh?" I pushed myself up on to my elbows. Springs inside the couch dug in to my back. "I was clearing up…"

"Nasty things." Risto went to a cupboard at the far end of the kitchen unit and came back with a green case bearing a pair of snakes entwined around a rod topped with the aquila.

"Where's…?"

Risto upper lip curled. Hairs stuck out from his nostrils. "What have you brought in to my house?"

"Mercenary."

"And did you do that?" Risto pointed at the mark in the cloth made by Tyssa's knife.

"Oi, I'm not the one with artillery 'ere."

"Slap these over the blisters and try not to pop them. They'll get better on their own."

"Ta." I peeled the thin plastic layers from the adhesive and stuck them over the blisters. "Sorry for invading your house, Risto."

"Er… Sorry, was that house you said?"

"Aww, not you as well."

"Sounds like arse." Risto snorted.

"Well, this arse in't laughing. You got a shower 'ere?"

"It's a hab-block, mate. Communal." Risto clicked the case shut and returned it. "We're lucky to be living this far down. The higher up it is, the poorer it is."

"Oh, how d'you manage that then?"

"Working two jobs, aren't we? I'm on the eight 'til seven; eleven hours. Talia teaches from eight in the morning 'til eight in the evening."

"Grim, that."

"Ehh. Awkward."

"Oh, I had some of that cereal you've got up in the cupboard there. Starving. Sorry 'bout that."

"Mm, bit stale by now, I think. Thanks for clearing up anyway."

"So, where's…?" I swivelled round and placed my feet on the floor. Tyssa sat cross-legged, facing the wall opposite the kitchen unit. The flash-hider of her rifle jutted out from the half-open bag at her left shoulder.

"Hang a sign over her saying 'approach with caution'." Risto mumbled.

"She won't even allow that." I chanced it anyway and threw a quick glance to check Risto couldn't overhear. "What's best with stickies then? Approach from the front or the back?"

"Neither." Tyssa did not look up. In her hands was a piece of white cloth, to which a needle and thread was attached. In the centre of the white was a blue sword and a yellow crescent.

"Embroidery?" I squatted beside Tyssa.

"Away with you. I seek no common ground to discuss pointless trivialities with you."

"It's alright, that. How long did it take?"

"If our paths cross again, I will leave your body face-down and cold."

"Let's hope it don't come to that then."

"Yours will be painless, that I promise you." The needle worked up and down.

"And if it's like last time? I get the drop on you."

"The day you get the drop on I, shall be the day the God of the Dead rises."

"So, let's pray for it then."

"You will _never_ pray with me, human. Take solace that I am letting you live."

"Alright then." I scratched at the cuts on my cheek. "Leave after dark?"

"You are not accompanying me."

"If you want off Grendel, you'll want to go for the spaceport across the river. I'll take you across the railway bridge. It's not guarded, see. That gets me back to me barracks and you… Wherever you're going next. Truce 'til then?" The needle hovered. "Think on it."

"I'd really like you out before Talia comes home." Risto tossed a clean dressing over.

"Yeah, we'll be gone before that." I plucked at the dirty gauze. "How's it look?"

"Spick and span." Risto smiled at the clean tablewear.

"Nah, me fizog."

"Like a ripe red apple."

"Concussion, she said."

"And you believe her?"

"Risto, I've got full fucking orchestra banging away up 'ere." I folded the bandage and wrapped it around my head.

"Well, take it easy then. That's all the advice I can give you."

"Got any painkillers? I lost mine."

"No. They cost an arm and a leg. Just take it easy this afternoon. It'll pass."

"Thanks for putting up with us, Risto. I want the best for you and Talia and Eamonn."

"You can shake my hand when you're on your way out the door. I'd honestly rather forget – and no, she's _not_ hypnotising me."

I hung my head. "Sorry."

"Just hope there's no harm done. Malkara's got informants everywhere."

"But we're on his side, aren't we? I thought Lairs and Five Hundred got called 'cause you was having trouble on the streets."

Risto tutted. "…Well. I just wouldn't trust anyone I didn't know personally. Not the Blackshirts, not the Tin Men, not Graw, LVF, and certainly not the Imperial Guard, bar you."

"I won't tell anyone. I'm gonna be giving a report about this. I'll make something up, don't you worry."

"I do worry, every day." Risto stuck his hands under the tap. "Ahh, the hot's off again. You've no idea how difficult it is to raise a little one in this city. We can't leave either, not without a travel permit, and that's sliced off several months' wages just for the single. A family pass is… Well. Just don't have a family as young as I did. You know, you're twenty years old, you're flying place-to-place, getting dumped in warzones. If I were in your shoes, I'd just be happy it's just me I've got to look out for. Try not to make too many friends out there. They're the ones you start off with. Anyone else isn't worth getting to know."

"Thanks, Risto." I wiggled my toes. "'Fraid I've got to beg you for some socks now, mate."

"Oh, now socks I can help you with. You look like Talia's size."

"Girls' size?" I followed Risto in to the tiny side room. A single wall-mounted cabinet took up most of the space, the rest was Risto and Talia's bed, and Eamonn's crib. "So, what 'appens when Eamonn grows out of that cot?"

"Erff…" Risto flicked a hand at the cot. From inside the cabinet he took a pair of grey socks. "What's that look for? They're clean."

"Hmm." I stretched the mouths.

"They're my wife's socks you're sniffing there."

"First and last time. I won't be sniffing these again, not after my feet 'ave been inside 'em. Thanks for that."

" _James_." Risto moved close to whisper.

"Oh, he does remember. What's up?"

"Don't. Trust. The woman." Risto poked my shoulder at each syllable. "That's a face of an angel but the mind of a fucking killer under that hood."

"I read ya, pal. She did some mates o' mine. Slotted 'em in the back when they was running. Not sure that's what you'd call combat. There's something proper ruthless and pragmatic-like with her."

"I think you should get the hell away from her as fast as possible. I get this uneasy feeling when I'm in the room with her. Something I've never felt before."

"Alright, just trust me 'ere, Risto. We'll be gone come dark. I'm taking her back across the river then that's it."

"You watch her, James." Risto gripped my arm. "You _watch_ her."

Risto came and went throughout the afternoon, either empty-handed or with foodstuffs in paper bags. Tyssa remained sitting upon the floor, engrossed in her embroidery or meditating. Always her hood remained up. Not one word surfaced. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the ponderous _whump-whump_ of a fan. _Is that even giving the room cool air, or is it just blowing warm air around?_ I couldn't imagine what the ventilation was like in the hab-block. _At least it's quiet_.

"It's half round six, mate. Dark enough outside."

"…Shit, I nodded off." I rolled off the couch and poked at my boots. Stones rattled inside my head. _Take me bloody hours to scrub all the muck off these._ "Oi, Tyssa, stop embroiding, we're moving, most kosh." Tyssa cleared her throat. "Oh." Tyssa stood above me, hood drawn, bag slung over her shoulder.

"Risto, I'm heading off. What's it like outside?"

Risto tossed chopped vegetables in to a pot. "Taupe."

"Wind, rain, snow?"

"Out."

"I'll pay you back for this." I stumbled around the couch. "I'll pay you back."

"No, you won't. We'll both forget on our own. Mind how you go now."

"'Kay." I pressed the door release and jerked my head at Tyssa. "After you." Tyssa bristled.

"Shut the door!"

Tyssa strode out in to the corridor at my heel. My eyes strayed to the floor. " _Thank you_."

Back down through the gathering of homeless we trod. Each floor held even greater numbers now that night approached. Cans rattled at me. "Spare something…"

"…For my children."

"…They are starving."

"…We have nothing."

My ears reddened. I lowered my chin and focused on my feet taking the steps one at a time. _I'm sorry. What am I supposed to do but walk?_ I buried my nose inside my jumper, my eyes smarting at the reek. Even with the crook of my arm over my nose, the smell crept inside. Once down in the atrium, I made for the door and pummelled on it. Tyssa pushed me aside and slid back a bolt, fixing me with a glare. The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention.

The car waited out in the road, a little further down from the Stonehill's entrance. The rear passenger doors opened and two men got out. A pair of glowing cigarette butts wavered closer. Hands in their pockets, the two widened their net. The man in the blue greatcoat, minus the brass buttons, dipped his head. "Hello, son." A muscle spasmed in my cheek. The stale cereal, long liquified, bubbled and rose inside me. "Time we took you home." Arms rigid at my sides, I ducked inside the car. Shoulders throttled me. Doors slammed. Locks clicked. _Tyssa?_ I twisted around. The Stonehill's mouth receded in the back window. _Where did she go?_


	14. Chapter 14

**Norn, Grendel**

Raindrops collected upon the car's windows. The rattle and squeak of the wipers sliced away the water upon the windscreen. With my shoulders immobile, I could move my head. _The waterfront. Where's the bridge?_ Gantries loomed overhead. Crane arms stood over fat haulers, their winches dangling over block upon block of containers. _This isn't the way back_. My hands tightened over my knees. "Where we going?" The car nosed between stationary freight cars before bumping over a set of rails. _Is there a boat waiting?_ A pier, a thin finger of ferrocrete and wood, stuck out between two warehouses. Bright lights shone above the tall double-doors. Upon stacks of crates, stevedores sat smoking. In the distance, a bell chimed. The car drew up in front of the lightless passage and stopped. Three doors popped open. The driver remained in his seat. I looked first to the right then the left. The man at my right shoulder remained seated. The other stood by the open door. Faces turned my way when I climbed out. Eyes fixed upon the car and the occupants. One of the stevedores slipped his hand beneath a tarpaulin lashed over some crates. Head down, I followed and was followed by the strange men, Greatcoat leading, two others tailing me closely. A door banged outwards in front of us. Slings tautened. Clicks came as safeties were thumbed. The intruder, armed with nothing more than an iron bucket, saw us and backed away, slamming the door behind him. Underfoot, the ferrocrete gave way to wooden planks. Tall poles stood at intervals along the pier, each one equipped with lamps, though all were dead. What little light ghosted the water's surface offered nothing more than a scant relief from the darkness. _Where's the boat?_ Besides an old shed, the water around the pier was vacant. "Tags." Greatcoat's open palm hovered in front of me. I dug inside my sweater and drew the linked disks over my head.

"Is it him?"

Greatcoat weighed my tags then scrutinised them. "Larn. These aren't Lairs-issue. Foreign type."

"Give 'em…" A hand on my shoulder pushed me down.

"Don't move," said Greatcoat. "You're safe here."

 _Safe?_ I folded my arms across my chest and sniffed. Greatcoat moved away with another man, leaving the third leaning against the white-washed railing watching me. I squeezed my hands inside my armpits and bit upon my lips to quench the shake in my jaw.

"That soot on your clothes, where'd it come from?" Greatcoat squatted.

"Building – building caught fire. Some explosion or something."

"Which building?"

"The Belladonna."

Greatcoat dangled my tags in front of me. "Right, well you've admitted you've been out of bounds. It's a very serious matter. We'll be having words with your CO, we will. I want you to think about what you're going to put in your report, son. The whole truth. D'you understand what I'm saying?" I nodded. "Just sit tight. Be home soon. Keep a look out for our ride, will ya? It's coming across the water." Greatcoat stuffed the disks inside his pocket, something I frowned at. _What does he want with them then?_

"… _Waiting for, sir. Let's get this over with_." I heard Greatcoat muttering. _Sir?_ I glanced at the man keeping an eye on me. An unlit cigarette was held between his teeth. Both hands remained in his pockets. One shoe rested upon the wooden beam behind him. He was a stranger. _Who's Greatcoat answering to then?_ I shrank as a shadow in a dark zip-up jacket took Greatcoat's place beside me. A maroon roll-neck sweater protruded from the jacket's collar. "Got a knack for rule-breaking, have we? You fucking sneak." Shoulder-holster glared at me. "Keep sticking your hand down holes and you'll get bitten. Look over there. Out across the water." A safety catch clicked in my ear. A cold, round muzzle kissed the back of my head.

"Sir, Valkyrie!" Greatcoat shouted. A searchlight tore through the clouds and swept across the river towards the pier. Turbojets blasted spray across the water.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." The muzzle withdrew.

"Fucking PDF, sir!"

Shoulder Holster slipped his weapon inside his jacket. "Move." Abruptly the beam swung back over the river.

"Fugees, sir." The other nameless officer popped the cover from a slim ocular and glassed a tiny raft caught in the searchlight. "Where do they think they're going?" Thunder roared from the Valkyrie's chin. Torn to shreds, the raft's occupants disappeared. The searchlight lingered upon the floating splinters for a moment then tracked back to the pier. Bathed in the hot glare, I screwed my eyes shut.

" _RETURN TO THE SHORE_."

"S'pose shouting's out of the question, sir."

"Bring him."

Greatcoat slapped at my back. "Move it, son." Hustled back along the pier, I stumbled. _Is that blood?_ Through narrowed eyes, I picked out a dark stain coating the planks. Greatcoat's hand slamming upon my shoulder pushed me on. The searchlight followed us. Shoulder Holster's colleague shouted. Whatever he said was lost to the ungodly howl of the Valkyrie's engines.

 _Fwip._ I dove to my knees and covered my head. "Graw!" Shoulder Holster whipped out a sidearm and loosed off a shot at the landward end of the pier. Greatcoat and the other man dropped to a crouch and levelled stub pistols. "Go!"

"Fucking move!" Greatcoat gathered a bunch of my collar in his fist and forced me forwards. A tide of warm air blanketed us. Overhead, the Valkyrie turned its chin gun on the far end of the pier, unleashing a waterfall of shell casings on our heads. "Aaargh, throne of—!" Greatcoat swiped at brass casings falling inside his collar. "Oi, you little—" I kicked out, the thick sole of my boot hitting the back of Greatcoat's knee. With his fingers loosened, I shimmied through the gap between the planks and the railing and plunged downwards. A smack and the river swallowed me. Rumbles shot through the water. Hives of insects skittered along my arms, down my neck, and up my trouserlegs. I clapped my hands over my ears, bubbles flying up to the surface. A wooden post connected with my flailing boot. Silt gave way underfoot. Light swept over me, illuminating horizontal beams linking the pier's supports. Lungs warming, I hugged a beam and lifted my leg over it. Darkness returned. The screeching nails in my ears subsided. Two beams above me formed an X-shape. I grasped at one, my fingertips dragging across the wood. With pressure inside my chest building, I expelled my last ounces of air and got my hand around the cross-beam. Water streamed from my head. Spluttering in the cold air, I spat and pumped my submerged legs. Free of the river, I leant my chin and upper torso upon the flat beam above the cross. Nothing stirred on the pier. Thin slices of light cut through the gaps in the planks, nothing more than a deep grey, a shade lighter than the sky above. A numb glove encased my nose and ears. The rising wind curled around my shoulders, trickling inside my collar. I lifted my stinging eyes. Two pinpricks of light blinked at me from on top of the beam. A tiny hand reached out to me and took mine. "Evening," I gasped.

Two children, pale, frail creatures, squatted with me a few inches above the waterline. Both wore dark robes with hoods drawn over their heads. "Hey, what you doin' down 'ere?" The children clung to one another. "Where's your ma, uh?" One pressed a finger to his lips. "Yeah, ssh. S'alright, they've gone now." _Have they gone now?_ I edged around the post I leant against and peered up through the slats. "Stay 'ere, yeah. I'll be back." Post by post, I clambered further along the pier. The white stood paint out clearly from the water. _Now I understand. They were bringing me here to waste me because I walked away from the Belladonna._ A ladder at the far end of the pier ended a full two feet out of my reach. Grunting, I flapped at the air beneath the ladder. A head bobbed over the edge of the pier. _How did you get up there?_ I gaped at the children. Both pushed at the ladder and slid it along its rails. "Hey, ssh, keep quiet." I stayed on my knees once back on the pier and raised my open hands. The children shied away from me. "Lotta bad men 'round 'ere. Stay quiet." I motioned them to kneel down, which they duly did. "I'm James." Both looked at each other. "James." I patted my chest. One of the children touched the corners of his hood. The other grabbed at his wrist and shook his head. "What bit you, lad?" I rose. The two scurried back along the pier. "Oi!" My boots thumped after the children's pattering feet. Both the car and the stevedores had vanished, leaving the area around the pier desolate, yet shell casings were scattered about. "Hey, psst!" I tumbled through a gap in a fence and crashed in to a stack of wooden pallets. Splinters nicked at my hands. "Oi." The children flung themselves at an intact fence. Both pawed at the smooth wood with neither finding purchase. "I…" I slid to a stop at the fence and bent double wheezing. "C'mon, I'm tired already." The children danced away from me, hopping through a fissure in the wall of a storage warehouse. Iron rings throttling my belly, I wriggled through. From the floor to the distant rafters, crates were stacked, forming a maze. " _Lads?"_ I Squelched after the pitter-patter of the boys' feet, my own leaving damp footprints behind. _I'm not playing silly buggers with you at this time of night!_ An adult's screech further ahead drained the energy from my step and set my teeth on edge. I froze as a man in a tin hat shambled across the passage further on. The lamp attached to the crown jerked a light beam across me. His hands were clamped over blood oozing from his nose. _What the…?_ I shrunk back from the rolling beam. _Those boys…_ Around the corner, two very small shapes huddled behind a broken crate that had fallen from the nearby stack it sat upon. Straw and wood splinters carpeted the warehouse floor. " _Hey_." I knelt across from the boys. "S'alright." The boys hugged one another. One of their hoods had fallen back, exposing dark hair and pointed ears. "Oh… Throne of Terra." I covered my chin and inhaled through my hand. "You're hers." Sniffing, I bowed my head and scratched at my damp hairline. Dirt gathered it together in greasy clumps. "Can you…?" I tried gauging the little one's reaction. "No, no you can't, can you?" I rocked back and forth. _What do I do?_ A door slamming somewhere in the warehouse brought me to my feet. "I know your ma – your mother." I made a cradle with my arms. "Your mother…" _If only I knew her bloody name!_ "…Wait." I felt for the folded-up drawing of the womanand opened it gingerly. A click and a torchbeam played across the floor. The bareheaded child fiddled with a tin hat, spinning it around in his hands before placing it on his head backwards. His brother swivelled it around, blinding me. "'Ere." I held the smudged picture up. "Can you…?"

" _Ishar!_ "

"Huh?" I turned the picture. The soaking had taken the sharpness from the sketch, leaving patches a blurred mess. Half of the woman's face remained recognisable though. _Thanks for this, Art. Never thought it'd come in handy._ "Ishar, is that her name? Is she your mother?" I handed the picture to the boy. "I know her, so I do." The boys put their heads together. Neither appeared to be speaking, only giving gentle twitches of their shoulders. I clenched and unclenched my hands, shifting from one foot to the other, until one of the boys tiptoed around to me and opened his hand. "Take you to your mother, yeah?" The little one's hand warmed my wrinkled fingers. In the shadows inside his hood, two bright eyes glinted.

* * *

 **The Scorpr Bridge, Norn, 21:46**

"Nosy fucking bastards!" Captain Egan Brasso punched the passenger door's side panel. "PDF swine! Did you slot that boy?"

Sergeant Lisle Annand twisted in the front passenger seat. "Cunt slipped off the pier, sir. Fucking gunship dropping brass down my neck. Right mess this turned out to be, sir."

"Your mess, Sergeant. You'd better hope he can't swim."

"Won't matter, sir." Annand brandished the soldier's identity tags. "We cross his name off the list. No-one else walked free from the whorehouse."

"Aren't you forgetting someone, Sergeant?"

"The bint, sir?"

"That bitch the soldier was with. You saw him enter the hab with her, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"See her come out?"

"No, sir."

"Was she at the Belladonna."

"I don't know, sir."

"Then drop it, Sergeant. One bitch means nothing. She's probably a merc paid for by Graw."

"And what if Graw gets their hands on the soldier?"

"They'll waste him and dump his body in the river, if it's not there already. Move on, Sergeant." Brasso scowled and propped his elbow up on the side panel. "I'll let Brecher know the MIA is now officially KIA. You found the body, Sergeant. You'll write the report."

"Sir." Annand flicked his lighter open and lit up.

"Window, Sergeant." Brasso scratched a rash underneath his chin. Wispy smoke curled along the car's flank as it turned through the gateway leading in to Regia Barracks.

"What's Joparr up to then?" Annand waved his cigarette at a group of Paras standing in a human chain next to a Horus six-wheeler. Crewmen poking out of hatches took hold of 3-inch shells passed to them by the Paras and bore them inside the car's square turret. Other crew were at work on the smaller and lighter six-wheeled Chariots. "Thought Five Hundred weren't on ops, sir." Annand flicked his smoking butt away.

Brasso tutted. "Last thing we need is a hammer. There's Brecher. Pull up next to him, Corporal." Lieutenant Colonel Brecher, Major Delica, and two Joparr officers were in discussion outside the entrance to Battalion Headquarters. Joparr looked particularly distinct in their red berets and polished flashes, especially alongside the deep blue Lairs wore and their own dull brass flashes. Brasso slammed his door, stuck out a hand for the soldier's tags, and went over to Brecher.

"Captain."

"Major, the last Lairs MIA has now been accounted for." Brasso thrust the tags at Delica.

"Has he?" Delica turned to Brecher. "Excuse me, Colonel?"

"Hmm?" Brecher broke off his converse with Joparr. "Yes, Major? Evening, Captain."

"Last Lairs MIA accounted for, Colonel." Delica offered Brecher the tags.

"…Right. The body, Captain?"

"Sergeant Annand discovered the body of the missing soldier near the Stonehill, sir. Graw had tortured and executed him. Retrieval of the remains was not possible. The danger of exposing my operation to Graw was too high, sir."

"Major, you – you pass these on to GSO Three at A branch." Brecher pushed the tags back at Delica. "We can close the book on this farce and concentrate on tomorrow's operation."

"Yes, sir." Brasso, holding his face tightly, waited for the dismissal then swivelled around to Annand. " _You'd better 'ave that fucking report on my desk first thing, Sergeant._ "

"I hear you have yet more proof of murder." Lieutenant Colonel Rogal Orisko folded his arms and leant closer to Brecher. "What's this about a torture?"

"Lairs business, Rogal, nothing to worry about."

"Hm, of course." Orisko touched his throat and cleared a build-up. "Excuse me. You know I had a scan of my lungs last month?"

"Oh, flame-grilled or slow-roast?" Brecher laughed.

"Black and pink! Well, I'd prefer dying young doing my duty to the Emperor, as I'm sure we all would."

"Servitude can only grow harder the older and frailer the body becomes."

"Haha! Do you know if they will authorise a culling of the old and infirm when we head in to the slums tomorrow?"

"Aah…" Brecher rubbed a mole on his chin. "Ours is a mere token show of force, Rogal. Let the governor's tanks ride the rabble from the ruins."

"Or maybe drive them in to the ruins and bring the earth down on their heads?"

"…Yes." Brecher showed his teeth. "It'll be good seeing Joparr in action again. Just do me a favour and show those black-clad bastards who the real troopers are."

"Mm-hm. Can we go over the briefing one more time, Breaker?"

"Of course."

Brecher, Orisko, and 500's 2iC headed down in to the operation's room in the basement. Maps of Norn's western quarter were pinned up on bulletin boards. A red line had been drawn, starting off on the Scorpr bridge, and heading through the areas with the heaviest population, through the poorest sector – the slums – then north around the old stadium. Once past the stadium, the route turned south, heading past a cathedral for a kilometre before making a sharp left and returning eastwards past the marshalling yards and then across the other road bridge.

"Andrew, can we run through the briefing of tomorrow's operation again?" Brecher said to his GSO III; a senior captain. "Damned having to share headquarters, isn't it, Rogal?"

"Recaf, Breaker? I don't sleep well before an op."

"Sarn't Major? Recaf for the colonel please."

"Sir. Milk and sugar?"

"Milk and sugar, Rogal?"

"Two and one."

"Two and one, Sarn't Major."

"Sir?" The G branch captain was poised with a pencil upon the starting line.

"Alright, go ahead, Andrew," said Brecher.

"Our intention is a song-and-dance in the green sector, where the objective is a simple showing of strength to GRA and other undesirables. Along for the ride is an armoured troop loaned to us by the governor; they'll provide the spearhead. Jumping-off point is the eastern end of the Scorpr bridge manned by the Tin Men. Our sappers are currently removing the barricades on the western side giving our convoy a free run in to enemy territory."

"H Hour?"

"0900 exactly, sir, though the tanks are only scheduled to appear at 0845."

"Why?" said Orisko.

"Stationary armour in an urban environment puts the wind up the crews, sir, and they only answer to the man in the high chair."

"Alright, so we roll through these districts, firing off rounds, and just generally making noise."

"That's right, sir."

"March order?"

"One half of the armoured troop shall top and tail the column respectively, sir."

"Bulldozers," Brecher muttered.

"Yes, sir. The point vehicles are equipped with bulldozer blades in case the locals attempt to erect any roadblocks. Directly behind are Joparr's Chariots – nine of them – headed by your Horus, sir."

"I like the big guns rolling on point." Orisko took the mug of recaf from Lairs' sergeant major. "Thanks, Sergeant Major."

"Behind Joparr are half a dozen Pythons carrying a battery from Lairs, sir."

"Battery A, Andrew?"

"Yes, sir. Gunners from Battery B have been transferred over to A after the incident, putting A up to one hundred per cent strength."

"Very good, Andrew. Any questions, Rogal?"

"Accompanying ARV?"

"Nothing of the sort exists in the governor's arsenal I'm afraid. Let's cross our fingers shall we, sir?"

"Cross our fingers that GRA have nothing heavier than rifles." Orisko's brow furrowed. "AOP?"

"A representative from the governor's inner cadre shall be observing the operation, sir."

"From how high up in the sky?"

"Outside rifle range, sir."

"Rules of Engagement?"

"Don't fire unless fired upon. The tanks' main batteries will have empty ammo racks and their guns will be facing to the rear. The same with your Horus?"

"Yes."

"Other than that, any man, woman, or child firing rounds at us is fair game, just don't go overboard. We don't want a massacre."

"Yes, quite right, Andrew. Ah, Major, anything we might have forgotten?"

Delica frowned at the map. "Will Joparr stick to the planned route, sir? So, no running firefight if there is trouble?"

"There will be trouble," said Orisko. "Also… Are we on the lookout for anyone in particular? Any known players we want lifted off the street?"

"The more arrests we can make the better, Rogal. Doesn't matter who."

"Okay… Do we know where the GRA are going to be?"

"Yes, sir, we know a GRA stronghold exists in this theatre four hundred yards west of the old stadium. So, upon our right flank as we turn the corner south will be the likeliest place where GRA chooses to make their contribution."

"Which I've no doubt they will. I'd like to halt a block before the turning and post snipers on top of the roofs with a clear line of sight towards the theatre."

Brecher shook his head. "Under no circumstances are we to enter buildings. It's a no-go."

"We must have eyes on the rooftops, Breaker. I won't have it."

"Live rounds, sir?" Delica said. Orisko snorted in to his mug. "Okay… Press placement?"

"Uhh, let's not inform the papers of our intentions just yet, Major." Brecher laughed. "They'll swallow the story the governor drip-feeds them."

"I've no interest in the propaganda war." Orisko scowled. "Drink, Breaker?"

"Yes, of course, Rogal. Andrew, do we have that tablet with unit callsigns and comm frequencies to hand?"

"Certainly, sir, it's in the hands of one of my juniors. If you'll excuse me…"

"Well, I'll say good luck to you now, Rogal." Brecher shook Orisko's hand.

"You're not coming along for the ride, Breaker?"

"It's not the business of battalion OCs to command single batteries. I'd rather a captain sunk his teeth in to the rotten underside of Norn than a forty-year-old lieutenant colonel."

"Hm, quite right. Chat over a drink? Recaf's too hot."

* * *

 **Green Sector, Norn**

Twin spires scratched the night sky. Glowing embers rose from fires in far-off streets; at their hearts blazing furnaces.

 _No, this is wrong, I strike too far west. South, Ranger, south!_ Izuru barred the mental map from casting doubt upon her consciousness and continued along the path running parallel to the street. The Lugo carbine, freshly cleaned and loaded with semi-armour-piercing rounds, hung from the loop of bungee cord running around her right shoulder. With the stock collapsed, only the end of the carbine's flash hider poked out from her jacket. Hidden within and attached to her belt were two holstered sidearms, her knife, and magazine pouches, and still her shouldered bag bulged with ammunition.

Patches of fire bursting from incendiary bombs spread across the street further ahead. Izuru darted in to a doorway and pressed her back against the side of the porch. A mob of rioters charged past, arms flailing. _Vermin_. Izuru clutched her bag to her side and slunk from the porch, making for the street corner the humans had surged from. _Kurnous!_ Izuru dodged out of the path of a second mob and, with nowhere to hide, crouched amidst a collection of broken timbers protruding from a broken wall. _Single-minded, simple people seduced by violence._ She bowed her head. _Pass in anger._

The clatter and clamour of the horde dispersing, Izuru hastened from the lee of the timbers and shed the glow of the fires. _Barricade_. Izuru checked off street after street piled high with wreckage fallen from or torn down from surrounding buildings. _What do they wish to conceal from their masters?_ Derelict vehicles, their insides scoured to the bone by fire, sat in heaps mating with the others of their like in the vertical graveyard. _The vaunted shrine to the so-called deity of Mankind stands proud in its perversion._ Izuru ducked inside a covered entryway underground which had caved in, leaving rubble blocking the way down. Barks and hoots rolled along a street, channelled forth by the high blocks rising either side of the dirt. _Kaela!_ Izuru scuttled across the mouth, catching a glimpse of a wall of humans marching towards her. Cracks and wallops rocketed around the slums as rifles were discharged in to the sky. Muzzle flashes danced over the heads of the mob. Stones clacked upon the ground. _What drives them in to such frenzy?_ Izuru fled along a passage leading to the right of the surge. Silent blades gripped in grubby hands hoved at her from the shadows. Izuru yanked the zip of her jacket down and, thrusting her elbow back, levelled the Lugo. The knives scattered, some clanging to the ground. Izuru snapped the Lugo's safety around the 'semi'. Her forefinger squeezed the slack from the trigger. The red dot in the centre of the Lugo's optic found the back of a fleeing human. His legs and arms windmilled. A shrill wail, a plea for help from his accomplices, echoed off the buildings. _Flee to your den. Bury yourself deep._ Izuru returned the Lugo to her jacket. _The storm is upon you_.

More parades of chanting humans funnelled Izuru along routes she did not want to go, and in a direction wholly different to her desired route back to the river, and from there the spaceport. _Bloody-handed One!_ Whiz-cracks pursued Izuru over a fence. _Do they shoot without restraint? What madness holds sway over their minds?_ Izuru hared through a yard, an island in the centre of the chaos, and climbed on to the roof of an outhouse, hauling her bag over the top of a hedgerow and dropping down in to an open street. _That cathedral again! Do all paths lead there?_ A round spat past her. _A_ _stray?_ Izuru flinched. A ting of metal on metal brought her round. A shaggy shape with bare legs banged a rusty pipe upon a drainage cover down the street. Izuru stared after the human who scuttled apelike to another of the cast iron covers embedded in the road and tapped on it. Izuru straightened up and backed away, drawing her jacket's zipper down. _And by Her word, the weak and the insane were culled, and the hardy rose neutered, babes in the waste._

Out of the orifices in the street humans wormed, as dishevelled and wild-looking as the barbarian who had invited their kind to the surface. _Bloody-handed One!_ Izuru bolted from the new threat. _Anarchy reigns!_ Covers popped ahead of her, disgorging sickly sweet fumes. Fingers shot out from the holes. Izuru plucked a thermos grenade from a pocket and pushed her thumb through the pull-ring. The Lugo bounced from her shoulder. Windows on both sides of the street shattered. Barbarians burst forth from their hovels, dragging hand weapons through the openings. A low moan rippled through the humans' ranks. Izuru spun and aimed the Lugo at the mass, thumbing the selector to 'automatic'. A sun bloomed over her head, spinning around and around until its arc dropped it at the humans' feet. Izuru swiped her hand in front of her eyes. The warmth given off by the flare tore at her retinas. "Nightcap, madame?" A human beckoned from an open door just off the street. Izuru charged at it, muzzle trained upon the human. Her thumb returned the Lugo to 'semi'. "My master's compliments—" Izuru swung the Lugo around. The steel edge of the buttstock connected with the human's skull. Other humans rushed at Izuru, surrounding her.

"The bag!" A hand pinned the Lugo to Izuru's side. "Shut the door—" Izuru rammed her head back. Her skull connected with bone. "Mmmph!" Her left arm shunted sideways, elbow outwards. It dug in to a soft mass. The heel of Izuru's boot came down upon toes, squashing the fat appendages inside cracked leather.

"Help!" A human squealed. "Stun her! The – the prod!"

"Get the prod!"

Izuru pivoted around and swiped at the back of a knee, shoving a human away. The one attacker, still holding the Lugo against her side, collapsed against the wall, his head ringing to the solid crack Izuru's elbow dealt. Teeth gritted, Izuru drew her knife and laspistol. From the heave of the four prone humans, one groaned. Izuru kicked at his midriff, cracking bones. Behind her, a bookshelf lay on its side. _No retreat_. Izuru tilted her laspistol and removed the safety. _Corners and behind the doors._

"I've got it." A human rounded the far end of the passage, a crackling prod in his hand. "Shi—" Izuru touched the laspistol's firing stud. A white flash lit up the corridor. The human dropped to his knees; a boiling tattoo on his chest. A second shot burnt away the fragments of his shirt, laying the skin open.

"NO!" A human caught the other's body from behind. Izuru sent a third shot in to the head of the body, blasting the features from the human's face, rendering it a shapeless, unrecognisable mess. Hiding behind the body, the human flung the prod at Izuru. Izuru's shoulders convulsed. A throaty growl ripped down the passage. "She's not human." The cowering human fell away from the body and scrambled backwards. "SHE'S NOT HUMAN!"

 _Flee. Spread tidings of me._ Izuru tracked the fleeing human. She nudged the body with her foot. Smoke coiled around it, rising inside her nostrils. _The scent on the unclean. Disgusting. No prayer will be said for you._ Izuru paid a glance at the humans behind her. Not one stirred. _Spineless vermin._ Izuru paused before the passage opened in to a wider room and leant sideways. Cobwebs coated the corner. Izuru swung her laspistol and checked the other corner. More cobwebs. "Strike a light." Izuru swung her weapon up to a balcony and hooked her finger around the firing stud. "Hello, sweetheart." A rough voice rang from the upper floor. Torch beams surrounded Izuru. Black muzzles aimed down at her. "D'you take sugar?"

 _Clack-clack…Clack-clack-clack…Clack._ The tap ofmechanical keys irritated Izuru who, restrained in a chair with a cloth sack over her head, could only listen. "Leave them on the table, Errol. Slash those cuffs now."

"Give her her hands back? Want me to take her hood off too?"

"Won't make a difference if we do or don't. It's my house. Do as you're told, Errol."

"Right, Boss." A blade sliced the plastic ties holding Izuru's wrists to the chair. A hand whipped the bag from her head.

"There you are, me lovely." A grey-haired human with yellow, wonky teeth smacked his lips. Dull grey eyes bored in to Izuru. Between the human and Izuru was a low wooden table with two steaming mugs on the surface. Bereft of a cloth, the surface had long lost its shine. "Don't mind these fellas. It's just you and I, Sweet Susan." The human reached for his drink. Izuru counted twelve toughs leaning in various places around the room. _Wallpaper peeling, damp rising. This house has seen little love._ Behind the grey-haired human, a typist sat at a desk. "Haven't got the patience for Twenty Questions, so I'll ask three. Number one: what do I call you?"

"Call me Inezh." Izuru crossed her legs and leant back in the chair.

"Hm." The human's eyebrows wavered. "Tea's there if you want it." He took a sip from his own mug. "Mmm, that's sweet enough. Now, question number two. Did you blow up my product?"

"I don't recall."

The human rapped his mug upon the tabletop. "Did you or did you not apply explosive material to my farm?"

"Maybe."

"Which, I take it, was in retribution for my hospitality?" The human waggled a finger. "Bring out my trophies, John." The human spoke to another standing behind Izuru.

"The sword, Boss?"

"Not the sword, the ears – put that down! Have someone's eye out, you will." The human tutted. "I'd say eye for an eye but apparently it's ear for an ear." John placed a cloth bag in front of the human then retreated behind Izuru. "Fetch a pretty price on the black market these will." The human pulled a string loose and produced two pointed ears which he held out in the flat of his palm. "These belonged to your friend. D'you want to know what I did to him?" The human leant back and linked his fingers.

"You made him a cake and bade farewell?"

"No."

"You asked him to dine with a fine wine?"

"No."

"You shared a blissful moment of understanding?"

"No. I don't think you're taking this discourse with the seriousness that's appropriate given your current situation. Right now, you're in the middle of a frozen lake, love, and there's a thaw coming fast, so watch your tongue." Izuru rose from the chair to her full height.

"Easy there, stickie." Pistols and knives appeared. A curved sword blade shot across Izuru's shoulder, the edge turning towards her neck. A few of the humans swallowed nervously and glanced at their leader, the only human who hadn't moved.

"Sneaky fucking stickies. Of course, you're a tall bunch, aren't you?" The human fiddled with a leatherbound timepiece on his wrist and looked Izuru up and down. "Lotta fat on you I see. Make some of my associates very happy, so it will. How 'bout you sit down and ask your questions now, my love. You raise your swords now, boys. There'll be no more hostility in my house."

"What do I call you?" Izuru returned to her seat. The long cavalry sword returned to a wooden mount on the mantlepiece behind her.

"To any and all, I am Oruc Veen, at the people's service. That's the _people's_ service because, in case you didn't suss, we don't like outsiders round 'ere." Veen began ticking off his fingers. "Be it government, soldiers, or knife-eared bints."

"I've seen the squalor, the poverty your people live in. The gangs outside—"

"Junkies off their walnut-sized minds on obscura. That's question number one. Hanky will you, Errol?" Veen blew his nose. "S'cuse my manners."

"There was another, another like me. He…"

"Oh, you mean him?" Veen jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Open the blinds." A crony leant over to a pull-cord. Behind the blinds hung a half-naked Saeros.

 _Kaela Mensha Khaine, what have they done to you?_ Izuru kept herself still. Her linked thumbs turned the same colour as Saeros's face. The whites of Saeros's eyes showed between the slits of his eyelids. _Can you hear me?_

"You know, I genuinely had a crisis pondering what to do with this whelp. I mean, he obviously weren't the brains of the operation… Then again, neither was the other. That'd be you, wouldn't it?"

"Last question. How do I leave the city?" As she spoke, a nut of worry nibbled at her gut. _And now I fall in to his pocket._

"Oh! Well, you'd best lay something on the table, dearest, 'cause otherwise you'll be up on the block waiting for a short drop and a sharp stop with your friend over there. Oh, and you'll be wearing a dress. Only fitting a woman should wear a dress. Show some skin."

"Your best against me."

"Huh?" Veen curled the top of one ear over and tilted his head at Izuru. "Gonna have to repeat that."

"Your best against me."

"What, knives, sticks?"

"Bareknuckle."

"Are you sure, sugar?"

"I win, I walk. The other at my side."

"Nah. You win, that's your life. Him back there, still up in the air; in both regards."

"Name the time and place, and I am yours."

"Well." Veen clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Enthusiasm, that's admirable that, though I don't expect you'll see many bets going your way, sweet-pea."

"Your biographer?" Izuru's eyes landed on the typist. Grey too, the human's dirty fingers drummed upon the keys of an antiquated machine that routinely pinged. Every now and again, the typist slid the top half of the machine across and wound a dial.

"That's an unlicensed question there." Veen raised a finger. "You'll be keeping your tongue to yourself now, me darling. No spreading subversive stickie shit around my neighbourhood, you'll upset the locals." Veen glared in to his mug. "I can serve plonk if you so desire. Best drink in all Lysades, I tell you."

Izuru shook her head, mouthing, " _no_."

"Alright. That's a nice jacket you're wearing."

* * *

"Now!" I let go from the tailgate. Flagstones rushed up to me. Two tiny pairs of feet slapped upon the hard surface behind me. "'Ere!" I gathered the twins by their shoulders and pulled them around the corner, away from the tail-lights of the thundering lorry. "Lads, up and over. Sssh now!"

"Ssh!" The child held a finger to his lips. His brother copied and giggled, receiving a poke.

"Oi, quiet." I clambered up a stone wall and swung a leg over the top. "C'mon." I caught the little one's hand in mine and lifted him up. "Careful, there's a drop." The boy sat, legs dangling, and waved down. "Any time this week, lad." I lay on my front and flapped my hand. The boy bounded up the wall, ignoring my hand, and planted his backside next to his brother, a smile puffing out his cheeks. Sharp edges digging holes in my chest, I pulled a leg up, perched precariously on the edge, and dropped. _Shit, that's hay. Is it hay?_ I drew circles around where I squatted. _Who keeps hay out in the open? That's not right._ The twins picked at the hay. One sniffed a stalk and tried to chew it, the other put one behind his ear. "Stay here. I'm gonna have a look." Both pairs of eyes blinked at me. " _Stay_."

I tiptoed around puddles. Flecks of mud licked my sodden trousers. The socks Risto had leant me squelched. Inside them, the plasters rubbed at the backs of my heels. _What's that smell? Stinks._ A car engine lay half-submerged in one such puddle. On dry ground sat a yellow gas canister, a burnt-out cooker, and thick piles of animal dung. _Fuck me, it's getting worse_. I followed a plume of smoke rising from the chimney of shack; part of a collection of hovels arranged in a circle around a mound of burning rubbish. _More homeless? Or just bloody tinkers?_ I eyed up a gang of the homeless folk sitting around the blaze. _God, I'm freezing._

"Who's that?"

"I'm hurt." I trudged towards the homeless, head hung, armed folded. "I'm hurt."

"Bollock it, he's lying!" A homeless plucked a burning piece of timber from the pile. "Sneaky runt!"

Torches whipped around. Sharpened pieces of metal glinted from inside sleeves. Tattoos leered at me. "Looking for a handout, are we?" Cracked lips drew back from black teeth. A fat cleaver chopped at the air in front of me. "You're in trouble now." Water rippled around my boots. Sandals and bare feet sent waves across the surface of the puddles. Blackteeth flourished the cleaver. Fire flickered around me. I stumbled backwards over the gas canister, causing a splash. One of the homeless flapped his bent arms up and down, making chicken noises. "Those your kids there, boy? Sure they want to watch?"

"Huh?" I picked myself up out of the puddle and huddled in a corner. " _Run!_ " I mouthed.

"You know what they say, you play with fire you get burned." An iron poker, the tip glowing orange, dipped towards me.

"Run! RUN!"

The poker clattered to the ground. The hand holding it, the skin lost underneath black ink, flew to its owner's face. "Aaargh!"

 _What?_ I gaped at the twins. Neither made to run. In once voice they chanted, " _Iem eatoam, xios iem ishtikam. Sib iem amtoamthu aul!_ "

"Children of the Warp!" A homeless wailed. Torches were cast aside. "Flee! Flee!"

"Stand, its only children!" Blackteeth clapped the howling man on the back of his head, the latter collapsing to his knees. "Warp-spawn!" Blackteeth raised his cleaver. Fire turned his eyes red.

" _Iam furta cait Ual._ "

"…Throne of—" Blackteeth's teeth turned red. Blood dribbled from his gums. "What are you?" The cleaver sang as it bounced, coming to rest in a puddle. Hands hauled the two bleeding men away. Shrieks and hoots carried the haggle of homeless off in to the night. Two little hands touched my arm and ran up to my shoulder.

"Please… Please don't hurt me."

" _Fir_."

"I don't – I don't understand… Can't understand you." One of the twins nuzzled my shoulder, the other tugged at my hand. "Alright, alright, I'll come." I trailed the twins around the fire. "Oi, careful. Them lot might come back." _What's the point? They don't understand a word I say._ "Don't go in there." I crouched before a drape hanging in front of a doorway. The boys slipped through and rummaged around the squalor inside the shack. I caught sight of a toilet through a hole in the curtain lying on its side. _Worse than Butcher's Rock this place._ "Nah, I can't put that on, it's filthy." I shrugged off the moth-eaten blanket the twins draped over my shoulders. "Fleas and diseases." Their hands wrapped the blanket around me and kept it there, rubbing up and down my arms. "Alright, I'm okay, me lads." I pinched the blanket together at my throat and followed the boys around the back of the shack. "Hey, where you off to?" Underneath cobweb-ensnared eaves the boys led me. Long, spindly spiders' legs frantically spun their bodies away from me. Up and over the sloping sides of a bin the boys leapt. _Bloody hell, they don't half move when they want to._ I dropped the blanket behind me. A section of the lid flexed underneath my weight. The twins waved to me from the top of a fence. "Go on, make room."

Gas lamps glowed inside glass cases at the top of poles. A three-storey complex of ferrocrete foundations loomed above me. Scaffolding clung to the outer skin. _At least there's a roof_ , _even if it's just a sheet._ "Lads?" Their tiny forms hunkered down against a pillar. _Company?_ A breeze ruffled the sheeting pinned up where the walls would have been. _No tools around. Are the workers striking?_ A pot for mixing cement sat forlorn and abandoned. Sacks of dried cement rested against a stack of wooden pallets half-covered by a tarpaulin. Vertical notches had been scratched in to the ferrocrete. I laid a finger upon the first notch and counted along; seven, the number was meaningless to me. _Forgotten and abandoned._ I ran my fingertip to the edge and peered at the circle of grey dust.

A tug at my sleeve and the child pointed at a round object sitting on its own. "What is it? It's a…" I left the twins and, bending down, picked up a ball of brown leather. Bits of stuffing poked out of the seams. I spun the ball between my fingers and turned to the boys, both of whom watched as I dropped the ball and kept it up between my toecaps. _One, two, three, four, five_. The ball landed and rolled away. I chased after it and walked it in a circle. The boys, round-eyed, skipped away and hid. Their faces poked out from around a corner of a pillar.

"S'alright." I picked up the ball and bounced it up and down. "Won't 'urt." A nudge from my toe and the ball went their way. They poked at the leather, sniffed it and shook the ball as if expecting a trinket hidden inside. I kicked my feet. "Go on, son, give it a kick now." The boy brought it to me. "No-no, you've got to kick it. Can't be touching it with your hands now." I waggled a finger. "Bad that." The boy dropped the ball at my feet and scampered back to his brother. I dragged my heel backwards over the leather and balanced the ball upon my toes. "Hmm?" A smile stole across my face. Again, I passed the ball from foot to foot without it touching the ground. _One, two, three, four, five, six_. "Ha!" I launched the ball up and conked it against my forehead. Both boys stood on one foot then shifted to the other, wobbling against one another. A push from one, and the other fell over. "Oi!" I planted the ball in a rut and poked a finger at the child. "If I was your mum, I'd cuff you for that, or maybe your dad would do it, I dunno." I took the other boy's shoulder and helped him sit upright. "Your dad, eh? Wonder if he's looking for you too." I turned over the boy's hand. "Nothing broken? Nah, you're grand." The boy rubbed his eyes and sniffed, his lower lip protruding. "Sorry, I know you're scared. I'm scared too if it makes you feel better."

The ball punched me in the small of the back. "Oh!" I flicked my hand at the grinning twin. _Not now!_ "He's a right handful, he is. Wish I had a brother taking care o' me. S'pose you don't know what it's like growing up alone." The other twin, both hands gripping the ball, whacked it against the back of my head. "Yeah—oi, give over! Punching bag, is it?" I wheeled about, rolling my fists around the boy, who galloped away with the ball. "Cheeky." Scooting around a pillar, the boy peeked around one corner before darting out from the other. He jumped and threw the ball over my head. "Oh, that's how it's gonna be, is it?" The boy's brother, no longer sitting, caught it. I sidestepped to the left and right, beckoning. "C'mon, give it a punt." The boy lowered the ball, let it go and kicked it.

The ball thumped in to my groin. I let out a strained groan. My knees touched together and I keeled forwards very slowly and lay still on my side. The boys bounded over and prodded my leg. A hand began to shake my arm. "BWAHH!" The boys shrieked and tore away. "Oi, shush!" I clamped my hand over my mouth, suppressing a laugh. _My turn now_. I nabbed the ball and dribbled it through the pillars.

 _Come on! It's Durnanville versus Willans Ferry Town. Four-two, or was it three-two?_ I spun around in front of a bulging section of sheeting pinned between two pillars. _That could work._ I planted a heel upon the ball. "Ready?" The twins paid one another a smirk and shifted apart. A solid boot and the ball flew between the boys. "Your feet. Use your feet!" The ball passed between the boys' feet. Each gave gentle taps at first. "Hey, over 'ere." I curled both hands and planted them on my knees. Rubbing my hands together, I shuffled sideways. "Ooh, he's in." The leather passed between my legs and smacked against the sheet. "Shot." I pushed the ball away. The twins beamed at the thumbs-up I gave and came at me again. I slapped the ball away. "Nuh-uh." The twins chased after the ball, their feet entangling. _Right pair they are. When did I ever have a playmate?_ I smoothed down my trousers and thrust my head forwards. The ball sailed past, whipping my hair and landing against the sheet. I laughed and held up two fingers. _Two to you._

Five points later and with a pounding head I conceded defeat and fell to my knees. "I give up. I'll come quietly. I promise." The boys gallivanted around me. I pinned them against my sides, stood up, and spun around. "Whey-hey!" They giggled and squealed, their legs pedalling at the air. "Awright, that's enough. Let's find your ma, eh?" I set the boys on their feet and gave the ball one final kick, sending it far away in to the night.

* * *

Izuru ducked her head underneath a low water pipe running along the ceiling. "How'd she know that was there?" A human, one of Veen's men, whispered.

"Shush, you fool. If she speaks, she'll bewitch you!" _The delights of ignorance_. Izuru stooped through a doorway then whirled around, her head jutting forward. The humans yelped and fell back in to one another. "Fucking—!" A door slammed in her face. Behind it, a smear of insults and profanity rang up and down the passage. _They want to do what to me?_

"Lady Ranger?"

"Saeros!" Izuru hurtled at the voice, her bound hands finding Saeros in a corner. "Forgive me. I should not have allowed Derin and yourself to venture off alone. A curse! A curse! My name on your lips."

"Derin…"

"I am sorry. Please, allow me to look up you. Tear this rag from my head."

"Mmmn. My hands…"

"Use your teeth." Izuru laid her head underneath Saeros's chin.

"I have it."

"With ease." Izuru backed away. Saeros spat the sack out and leant his head against the wall. Even upright, the colour in his face still remained. Purple bruises dotted his bare chest.

"Plum or beetroot? My face." Lines appeared in the corners of his eyes.

"You…" Izuru reached for Saeros's hands and held them up. "Tomorrow I fight for you."

"Fight?"

"A gutter-bout with whoever the human's best is."

"A duel. Blades?"

"No-no, bareknuckle."

"Bareknuckle? You play the savages game?"

"I offered myself to them. Had I not, I would be sharing a grave with Derin."

"Where his body is, I know not. Nor his Waystone." Saeros's chin drooped. "'Tis Condemnation eternal. I weep for him."

"To where does Derin harbour loyalty?" Izuru shifted closer to Saeros and placed her shoulder against the wall.

"The princess."

"But his life before the Void Dragons. From where did he hail?"

"I do not know. Before my assignment to you, I scrounged. Do you remember the morsels I stole for you onboard the Gorynych?"

"A kind, heartfelt gesture, one I replied to with heartless apathy."

"This corsair was nobody. You made me somebody. Gratitude, Daughter of the Stars."

Izuru inclined her head. "Rest thy head here. Rest."

"Your warmth unnerves." Saeros's eyebrows steepled.

"Let your head come to rest in my lap, as if you were one of my own." Izuru guided Saeros's head in to her lap. "Rest."

"Your children…"

"Concern yourself not with them. Our paths _will_ intersect in the near-future, and where they are, Saarania shall follow."

"Ask not for me to break my vows. A betrayer I am not."

"No, Saeros. This ends with me and her. Saarania will drive her lackeys before her, as do all tyrants. When there are no more skirts for her to hide behind, our blades will cross."

"Dragut and Vliss…"

"They can try. Then they will know what it means to come between a mother and her offspring."

"I fear for you."

"Fear for them, for they shall know it when it comes." Izuru placed her palm upon Saeros's forehead. "Your temperature rises."

"My pulse follows."

Izuru kissed Saeros's brow. "Goddess of the Hunt watch over you."

"I have no deity to pray to. Such is the lot of the outcast."

"Then we are outcast together. I shall bring you away from Grendel alive, young one; that is a promise."

Saeros shut his eyes and gave a gentle shake of his head. "All paths end in annihilation for me."

"You do _not_ know that."

"Can I depart with dignity? Will you allow me that?"

"I order you to remain in my company, warrior. When opportunity presents itself take action. Remember this maxim: take action. Tomorrow, I require you to kill without hesitation, be it male or female, and with blade, firearm, or mind. Show the lower species why they should fear us."

"…Take action; why did I never?"

"Your insatiable curiosity brought your path across mine. There, you took action. You will take action after I beat the humans bloody on the morrow."

"Trust them not."

"There are none alive to whom I place my trust in. Treachery tomorrow is guaranteed." Izuru plucked at the neck of the AdMech shirt and pulled it over her head, shaking her arms free from the sleeves.

"I pray it is not a sign." Saeros smiled at the blood-red garment Izuru spread around his shoulders.

"Save breath for the coming fight." Izuru gnawed at the binds. "Aah, impossible."

"What of the human?"

"All resemble the other."

"The soldier. His name was—"

"Saeros! Names are for friends, confederates, allies. That human is where he should be; with his own kind. Dwell not upon him." _And trouble me no longer with that irritating accent, Whelp._ A muscle in Izuru's temple twitched. _Your impertinence is galling_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Norn, The Slums**

 _Come on, lads. How long does it take to do your business?_ Squatting on the floor of a derelict warehouse, I rolled back and forth on my heels. The colour had changed in the sky from pitch-black to a deep grey. Fat raindrops leaked through shattered skylights, forming puddles amidst the filth that coated the ground in a mire. _What happens when the sun comes up then?_ My hands kneaded. Feet splashed towards me. "Hey, what's the matter?" The boys flew at me, arms outstretched, and buried their heads in my chest. "What's bit you, me lads?"

" _Grrrr_." The boys made their hands in to claws and showed their teeth.

"Dogs." A bark sounded in the warehouse, the noise echoing. Hairs on my arms stood erect. "Alright, let's go. Nice and quiet now." I gathered the boys by the shoulders and guided them over to the pair of sliding doors, one of which stood open just wide enough to squeeze my stomach. "What's up?" The twins pulled away from the door, both whining. _We don't want to be 'ere when those dogs show up._ "C'mon, there's nothing out there!" I growled, sticking my eye to the crack.

"Boo."

"Fuck." I seized the door and hauled it the few inches across to shut it, flinging the locking latch down. Laughter boomed outside. A loud voice crowed something about axes. "Sorry, lads. Shoulda listened to ya." I badgered at the children. They were already running. _Straight at the dogs._ I stuck a hand out and grabbed the handle of a cart filled with coal fragments, swinging around to a grubby window. "Boys, here! Here!" I worked my forearm across the glass, smearing dirt across it. _Anyone out there?_ I blew dust from the latch and jiggled it. _Fucking thing's rusted._ One of the boys tugged on the hem of my jumper. "What is it?" He pointed at a winch hanging from a long chain directly above the empty cart. "Smash the glass with that, yeah? Okay." I rushed to the cart and set a foot upon the flat underneath the skip. The boys, one perching upon the other's shoulders, balanced upon the lip of the cart. "How did you…?" The twin beneath launched his brother up to the hook dangling from the winch. "Yes, lads!" I danced beneath the boy and caught him as he fell, bringing the winch with him. _Is it on a…?_ I tugged on the twin cables and dragged the system as close to the window as it would allow me. "Cover your eyes now, boys." I placed the crook of my elbow against my brow. The twins turned away and covered their ears. With the flaking iron in both hands, I drew it back and heard a crackle of splintering wood. _Shit_. The hook drowned out the axes, loudly, but pane by pane, the glass gave out. " _C'mon…Bastard_." I swung the hook sideways, clearing any little shards left over then leant down and cupped my hands. The twins shimmied through the opening, leaving the jagged maw above them undisturbed. With nothing to boost me, I clawed at the iron frame, my shoulders dislodging fragments. A frantic panting below propelled me through the rest of the way. With glass glittering in my hair, I slid down to the boys, belly-landing in the mud outside. _Bloody dogs!_ "Run, lads." I flung an arm at the adjacent warehouse. "Iggery."

Stones in their fists, the boys hurled them at a shoulder-height window. Each kicked at a faggot of sticks and scooped one up from the pile. "C'mon, smash it."

"They're round the side!"

"Oh, God. They're coming. Boys!" I pushed the boys aside and forced my shoulder against the glass. Bits nicked at my skin and cut through the material of my jumper, dragging lines across my shoulder. "Go on. Up! Up!" I wrapped my arms around a twin's waist and deposited him through the window. "You next."

"Get the dogs!"

"Keep going. Don't wait." The opening the boys had disappeared through choked my shoulders. Half-in, half-out, I squirmed. "Go on. I'll catch up." Their fall arrested by a crate, the boys took my arms and pulled. "Nah, it's not working. I'll go 'round." I wormed backwards. "Don't wait 'ere, just run." My boots regained the ground outside. Running feet and the gallop of dog's paws filled the space between the warehouses. _What do I do?_ Raindrops oozed down my brow and inside my eyes. A ladder hung from a scaffold ten feet out of my reach. Two dark flecks appeared at the lip of the scaffold and jimmied the ladder, coating my face with droplets. The ladder slid down to me, screeching on its rails. I caught the side and mounted the rungs. Hands grabbed a bunch of my collar and pulled me up on to the platform. "Good lads," I panted. A pair of slobbering hounds pawed at the foot of the ladder. "Help me." I hauled at the rungs. "Help me, lads."

"I see you." An axe-armed man in rags leapt for the rungs and brought them back down to the ground. "They're here!"

I bundled the twins back inside the warehouse, paused to wipe my face down, then pushed them on. In places, the warehouse floor was nothing but see-through grates. Where machinery had once been situated only dirty outlines remained, along with dust. Chains of conveyor belts sat immobile. "Come on." I patted the boys on their shoulders. "Quiet now."

" _Over here_."

"Huh?" I drew the boys close. "D'you 'ear that? Sounds like your mum."

" _Direl_." Both pulled at my arms. " _Direl_." Feet thundered upon the ladder rungs.

" _Danger. Yeah_." I slithered underneath a conveyor after the twins. _At least they can't bring the dogs up the ladder._ The boys waited for me to clamber out from underneath the conveyor then bellied underneath the adjacent. I spat out the dust they kicked up and stifled a sneeze.

"Spread out. They can't have gone far!"

 _What's pushing them after us like this? They're just kids._ I swiped my arms down and beat a cloud of dust from my jumper. "Where you going?" The boys dived at a square hole where the conveyor dipped and travelled to the floor below. _Can I get through there?_

A shadow fell from the rafters and landed in a squat atop the highest conveyor. Laspistols sprung from sleeves. I flung myself over the boys. The following screams came from our pursuers as, standing stall, the shadow opened fire, dual laspistols shrieking. After each volley, the assailant twirled his weapons, striking poses in between shots. I pushed the boys down the chute and scrambled after them. A coarse, springy material greeted my hands and knees. "Go, lads, go!" I tumbled down the belt after the boys. The twin laspistols continued firing above us. "Don't wait, keep going down." I jabbed a finger at the boys. "Down, down."

One floor up from the ground, I spotted a square of light and swivelled the boys around to face it. "Go there. Go there." A chute, this one covered, dropped down near vertical. "Down the slide, boys." Both took a look down the chute but neither moved. "Alright, I'll go first." I gripped the sides of the opening and swung through. Wind whipped me in the face. The seat of my trousers burned. A _whump_ and I rolled sideways in a cloud of soot, my back slamming against the side of a skip. "Aww!" I gnashed my teeth and cracked the side of my fist against the skip. "Fuck." I floundered in the mountain. My hand dug in to the pile, scooping out fistfuls. "Lads. Oi, down 'ere." A shape hurtled at me. "Shi—" Bowled backwards, I caught the boy in my arms. "S'alright, I gotcha. Where's the other, uh?" I tapped the boy's cheek. "You're alright." The other landed a second after his brother. "Ooh. There's a good lad." I pinched his cheek. "Off we go." I got a boot upon the lip of the skip and vaulted out, setting off at a jog with the twins close at my heels. _C'mon, let's have some luck_. I stood on tiptoes and scanned around for a landmark. _North, south, east, west?_ The twins took off across a set of tracks. " _Stay low. Stay low_." I followed the twins around a line of cars with hoppers. Grass grew up from the sleepers. Every rail I crossed was rusted red. At a boundary fence, the twins ducked through a gap then stopped to hold up a section for me to crawl through. "Thanks, boys." I set the broken piece of fence back in place. No barks or shouting pursued us. "Which way to your mum then?"

A crackle lanced behind my shoulders. I jumped and followed the finger one of the twins was pointing along the fence. A smoking muzzle aimed at me. "GO!" I bolted for a heave of shanties. The twins, ahead of me, ran along a winding street. _Where the fuck are we going?_ I careered through hanging drapes, kicking over somebody's stewing pot. "Slow down!" Fists and curses were hurled at me by residents. Chamber pots tumbled from on high. Piss, splashing at my feet, ran in to a gutter that snaked along the middle of the street. "Lads?" I made a left, caught myself when I glimpsed them running the other way, and tacked on. "Shit, dead end." I bounced on my heels, ran, and jumped at a brick wall. My hands found the top and I pulled myself up and swung a leg over. Straddling the wall, I lifted my other leg over and lay on my belly. "Grab me 'and." A twin leapt and caught ahold. "That's it." I dragged him along the bricks and nearly threw him over the other side. "C'mon, son!" I leant down again. Bricks exploded underneath me. Boiled cement and brick showered the boy. A shadow raised laspistols and took aim at me. I slipped over the wall and down the other side. The boy shrieked and charged at the wall. "No-no-no." I took the child in my arms and ran. "I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry." The boy wailed, his outstretched arm over my shoulder, his hand wide open.

* * *

Stiff and sweaty, Izuru traipsed between rows of steel pens. In each one, swine rolled amongst chunks of bloody meat. "Like what you see, Bareknuckle?" Oruc Veen dumped a shovel-full of meat from a bucket held by a lackey to the swine. Another lackey, ahead of Izuru, stumped behind Veen. Saeros walked at Izuru's shoulder and four more of Veen's toughs brought up the rear. Once more, binds restrained Izuru's and Saeros's hands behind their backs. "Can't say they've ever sampled foreign cuisine before. Thought I'd introduce them to it. Slowly mix it in with the regular grub."

 _My lady._

 _Izuru._

 _Izuru…_

 _Do not think about it, Saeros._ Izuru opened her hands and placed them against Saeros's stomach. _I am here._

"You listening to me, Stonefist?"

"Is this the scenic part of the tour?"

"Your young friend might not find that so funny if you continue on that tangent, my love."

"I have high hopes for your best."

"Do we have a ball-gag handy, San?"

"John was using it last, Boss. He likes a good tulip, he does."

"San, San?" John raised a fist from behind Saeros. "I want you to imagine this fist travelling through the xenos and down your throat."

"Get back in your pram, John! San, make sure the passage to the cathedral is clear. I don't want to be scraping pigshit from my shoes afterwards. I just had 'em polished."

"Right, Boss."

"And you, stickie, you save your breath for the slugga. Bloody women, seen and not heard! Ain't that right, Osmin?"

"Damn right, Boss."

"Can't we just hang 'em, Boss?"

"It was a rhetorical question, John. I'm making a statement with the xenos here. You, Knocker, are no different from any of the other silly sods who've passed through here, and in fact you're lucky you've even got this far." Veen loosened the silk scarf around his neck. "Got me so angry I can barely think. Now, I trust you'll behave yourself in the ring, stickie. No low-blows and the like, or open hands for that matter."

 _I hate the sound of his voice, Izuru. He sounds loud and arrogant._

 _Ignore his words. Observe his actions, Saeros._

"Short and sweet, I'm feeling, so it's five rounds of three-minute bouts. You got that?"

 _Rhetorical question._ Izuru's nose wrinkled. _The smell of this place!_

On from the pens, a large room was host to a five-foot-deep square pit with ferrocrete walls. One very long blood trail had dried upon the floor which not even the spread of sawdust could soak up. Steel cages, stacked in towers of four, held hounds of various size. _Beast-fighting? Only Commorragh's society stoops as low as to pit animals against one another._

"Going outside in a minute, ladies, so mind your heads and watch your toes." A sack was flung over Izuru's head.

 _Here we go, Saeros. Stay behind me._

* * *

 **The Scorpr Bridge, 08:53**

"Any word on the armour?" Captain Hector Pieyn, Officer Commanding Support Company, Joparr 500, stuck his head in to the troop compartment of his command Chariot. "Six, any word on the armour?"

"Nothing, sir."

 _Bother all. We've been hearing them for the past five minutes. Now where the hell are they?_ Pieyn leant against one of the rear doors and checked the chrono dangling from a loop on the breast of his body armour. _Eight minutes down, seven until jump-off._ "Sarn't Major—" Pieyn broke off. The battalion commander approached with his own headquarters. "Colonel, we're still waiting for the tanks to show up. Are we – are we to go without?"

Colonel Orisko slapped a flare pistol in to Pieyn's hand. "Wise for his years, the governor has seen fit to lay on a show after our departure from the slums. He plans to bomb the living shit out of the squalid proletariat of human decadence so he can renovate."

"Sir, he's what?" Pieyn broke the flare pistol and checked the bore. "Or rather what is he intending to bomb the slums with?"

"His private air force." Orisko sighed. "Twenty-four old junkers are – allegedly – coming in at ten to flatten the old city centre. "

"…Was that mentioned at the briefing, sir?" Pieyn laughed.

"Apparently he got out of bed a certain way this morning and decided a grand renovation should ride to the very top of his manifesto."

"And we're now working to this timetable?"

"Green flare once the company's clear from the zone. Red flare to abort the strike. Callsigns are the same." Orisko turned away.

"Sir, I think Support Company's skills can be better used elsewhere."

"Most definitely, Captain, but we do as we're told by the politicians."

"They know best, do they?" Pieyn folded his arms and stuck the flare pistol in a hip pocket of his smock.

"There's your armour!" Orisko raised two fingers to his ear and remounted his Python. "Good luck!"

 _So, after we're done shooting them up, we're dropping bombs on them._ Pieyn pinched his lower lip. _That's an atrocity waiting to happen, and we're supposed to be fighting against evil, not spreading it, secessionists though they may be; they're all human._

"Sir." Six passed a handset attached to his vox to Pieyn. "Tanga."

"Hello Tanga, this is Grota Zero-Alpha. Over."

" _Grota Zero Alpha, this is Tanga One-Zero-Alpha. Reading you strength five. Over_."

"This is Grota Zero-Alpha. Received and understood."

" _Roger. Out_."

"Captain." The mortar platoon's commander appeared at Pieyn's shoulder.

"Yeah?" Pieyn leant inside the Chariot and returned the vox handset.

"Sir, there's crowds forming either side of the road on the east bank. No particular aggro right now."

"Right, can you round up Anti-tank and Stubber's troop commanders. Get their sergeants too. Let them know we're moving as soon as the tanks are folded in to the march order. I've gotta go speak to them now." Pieyn jogged over to a foursome of old Mark V tanks clattering along the waterfront. _God-Emperor, they don't half make a din. They've been coming down that road for ten minutes too!_ Pieyn waved at the lead tank commander who stood upright in his cupola beside a .50-calibre Krupnok. Wires trailed down from his padded helmet. A laspistol sat in a holster upon his breastplate. Teeth trembling in his gums, Pieyn called out to the tank commander. Shaking his head, the tank commander spoke in to the mic at his throat and the earth-jarring roar subsided.

"I…" Pieyn slapped his ear. "Can your bulldozers take the point?"

The tank commander chortled. "Do keep up now, Guard."

"Hold on!" Pieyn's voiced was lost to the rising scream of the engine. With a jolt, the beast lurched forward. Pieyn sprang out of the way of the sloping bulldozer blade and ran back to his Chariot. "Six, you still got Tanga?"

"Sir."

"Hello Tanga, this is Grota Zero-Alpha. Why are your Ironsides in combat posture? Over."

" _Tanga. Do follow my callsign closely, Grota. H-hour commences in fifteen seconds. Out_."

 _Out?_ Pieyn stared at the handset. _I sent the traffic. I declare end traffic once I'm done. What's he playing at?_ The interior of the Chariot shook as the two tanks trundled past and sidled in to position at the head of the column. The lead tank's flank ground against the side railing, producing sparks. "Six, get me Sunray." _Why are their guns facing forwards?_

"Captain, I told the other troop commanders jump-off is imminent. Why are the tank turrets the other way?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking." Pieyn slapped the handset against his palm. "I'm gonna talk to Sunray about this."

Black smoke belched from the tank's exhausts. First one then the other rolled forwards on to the bridge. "Err…Captain."

"Shit." Pieyn hurled the handset inside the Chariot. "Where's the sarn't major? Sarn't Major, mount 'em up! Let's move!"

"Move! Move! Move!" The company sergeant major dashed up and down the line of parked Chariots, Pythons, and Joparr's single Horus, chivvying up idle paras. The Lairs platoon NCOs, further back, saw to their own men.

"Start her up, Sergeant. Let the Horus go first." Pieyn hopped in to the passenger seat and shut his door. "Fucking politicians!"

"Well, if this goes tits-up, it's not on us." The Joparr sergeant shunted the chariot in to gear.

 _Unless they scapegoat us._ Pieyn turned to his signaller. "Six, have you got Sunray yet?"

Six lifted one arm of his headset. "Sunray and Sunray Minor are unavailable, sir."

 _He was just talking to me._ Pieyn fumed. Through the viewing slit in his door, he watched the six-wheeler drive past. _I suppose that's been fully armed too._ The 3-inch snout pointed at the tank's rear end. "Alright, Sergeant."

The long line of armoured vehicles cruised across the bridge after the tanks. Pieyn eyed the crowd of civilians gathered on the other side of the barbed-wire on the east bank. No bricks, rocks, or bottles came his way. Blank faces simply watched the procession pass. "Six. Troop commanders."

"Sir."

"All Grota callsigns, this is Grota Zero Alpha. ROE in effect. No firing unless fired upon. Declare your targets. Over."

" _This is Four-Zero Alpha. Roger. Over_."

" _This is Five-Zero Alpha. Received and understood. Over_."

" _Six-Zero Alpha. Wilco. Over_."

"This is Grota Zero Alpha. Keep eyes peeled. Out."

* * *

 **The Slums**

"You've got two minutes then you're out in the ring."

Sealed in a tiny room with Saeros, Izuru paced the few feet of space, tested her weight upon the floor, and knocked on the wood panels. "Izuru?" Saeros folded his arms across his chest, his head drooping.

"Warm your muscles, Saeros. Be ready to fight whoever the humans throw at you." Izuru rolled her neck and shoulders. "Now, Saeros!" Izuru reached behind her head and felt for her bun. Several hairs had sprung loose and stuck out sideways like whiskers. A long strand holding her hair in place dangled down the back of her neck. _Nothing flaps or trails behind me._ Izuru tucked it inside the neck of her compression shirt then pulled down on the hem at her waist, flattening her chest as much as possible. _Nothing I can do about that._ "Tie your hair back tightly, Saeros. Dart from one foot to the other. Please do not remain idle. Fists up!" Izuru jabbed at Saeros, first with her right then with her left. Saeros raised his forearms feebly. "And kick!" Izuru dropped back on to her feet and placed her hands upon Saeros's shoulders. "Look at me. Stand idle and share your brother Corsair's fate or take action and show the lesser species why they should fear you."

"They do not fear me."

"Now is the not the time for doubt. Seize opportunity, stand up and fight. I cannot be your crutch."

"Kill me. Better at your own hand than theirs or the princess's. Let your face be my last glimpse. Then I will die happy."

Izuru's eyes fell to her feet then she danced back and tilted her head. "Strike me upon the cheek. Fear not." Saeros's fist lashed out, snapping Izuru's head around. "Good." She brushed the red mark on her skin. "Now swing." Saeros swung his right fist at Izuru's face. Izuru dipped her knees and ducked around the swing. "We play by their rules." Izuru hit Saeros's side with her right then brought her left downwards across his brow. "Rules, however, exist only to appease war-makers and politicians who believe that wars can be conducted with civility. Only those that have never seen war firsthand believe rules apply – hit me with your forearm!" Saeros dove in. Izuru caught Saeros by the forearm and clamped it underneath her armpit. "Your groin is now open." She raised her knee. "Hush now. The humans approach." Izuru and Saeros parted and leant against opposite walls. One of Veen's humans nudged the door in with his foot.

"Put these on and follow us out. He stays." Hand wraps were tossed in.

"Good luck," Saeros mumbled, his eyes downcast.

"Luck exists in the minds of the gambler and the speculator. We are beings of certainty." Izuru wound the wraps around her hands and flexed her fingers. "Victory shall lie broken and bloodied at my feet when this fight is over."

"Took your sweet time sorting yourself out, lovely. Still, I like to keep the crowd waiting." Veen stood outside in the middle of his men. "It's a packed house today so I expect a full fist-throwing from the likes of you, Iznesh."

 _Inezh._ Fists and fingers prodded Izuru's back. Two humans walked in front and behind, separating her from Veen. The passage soon grew so tight that single file became necessary. "Wouldn't mind another pair o' pointy little darlings to hang on my mantlepiece, Ballistics."

 _Ballistics?_ Izuru, frowning, tied the ends of the wraps down.

"No biting, no eye-gouging, fists only. D'you get all that?"

"Prepare a stretcher."

"Uh?" Veen paused mid-stride and stared over his shoulder at Izuru.

"Prepare a stretcher. Your best will need it."

A hum of chatter coming from above swelled as the party climbed a set of stone steps leading up to a trapdoor. "You might call it heresy holding a bareknuckle bout in our place of worship." Veen grinned. "Open her up, John." John grasped a rope attached to a pulley and hauled. "I call it business." Light sliced across Izuru. The humans around her covered their eyes. Hands upon Izuru's shoulder moved her forwards in Veen's wake. "Try not to look any sod in the eye."

A roar greeted Izuru. Crushed against one another, humans in their hundreds packed the cathedral's nave, aisles, and transepts. "We put money on this fight, bastard!" A human shook his fist at Veen. His outburst prompted an onrush of humans piling against the cordon around Izuru and Veen. Fists and legs pummelled the toughs. _Urgh, rabid animals_. Izuru fixed her eyes on Veen's back. Howls cut through the noise. "Witch!"

"Xenos bitch!"

"You die here today!"

"Knives slice your breasts off!"

"Pierce its cunt with razors!"

"Who am I to face?"

"Never you mind, Iznesh." Veen mopped his brow with a spotted handkerchief. "When you're in the ring, you're on your own. So, behave yourself."

 _One word from his mouth and the hordes devour me_. Izuru slipped underneath a rope held up for her by Veen's bodyguards and stepped in to the ring. _Hard surface underfoot. No irregularities._ Izuru paced the square, ignoring the leers and profanity catapulted at her. A glass bottle soared over the crowd, a scant blur in Izuru's vision. Her hand shot out and caught the bottle. A gasp whipped through the baying mass. Izuru set the bottle down in a corner and turned to look up at Veen and an announcer with a megaphone upon an elevated platform overlooking the central aisle. _Now send me the prey._

" _From the deepest, darkest depths of the wildest regions of deep space slithers a duplicitous xenos champing at its bit to floor our best – ESTOC!"_ Applause and shrieks broke out as two clawed feet appeared through the crowd.

 _Kaela._ Izuru left the balls of her feet and stared. Two metal struts attached to claws poked out of a pair of shortened trousers. Everything from the knees down had been lost. _How does he move with such grace?_ Estoc manoeuvred himself through the boundary and cracked his knuckles. _Six feet two, maybe 280 pounds._ Estoc matched Izuru's height to the inch and far outweighed her. _Does he even blink?_ Izuru met the muscle's eye. Estoc brought his slab-hands together and approached Izuru. Izuru rolled her fists and tapped them against Estoc's hands.

 _Ding._

Estoc rammed his forehead against Izuru's face. Izuru staggered back as a roar surged through the crowd. Estoc's hands reached for her face, the brute's claws carrying him forwards. Izuru lurched her upper body back, her spine bending. Estoc's fists blurred. Izuru's forearms took the brunt of the beating. She swept around on her heel, her lower leg delving underneath the cavity beneath the human's ribcage then following on with another kick aimed at his breast. Estoc trapped Izuru's leg between his arm and his body and pelted his fist at her chin. The incoming blow slowed to a crawl. _Decision. Retaliate._ Izuru cracked Estoc underneath his chin with her left hand. Estoc's fist came all the same. _Roll._ Izuru's head swept sideways, Estoc's hand flashing past. Still trapped, Izuru punched her forehead at the bridge of Estoc's nose. The soft bone gave way, splintering beneath the skin. A grunt tore from Estoc's sweat-flecked lips. At once, his hold relaxed. With both legs free, Izuru whipped around, the top of her foot battering Estoc's neck. Carried sideways, Estoc stamped upon the floor, the claws digging in. Izuru led with her left leg, targeting the soft spot in Estoc's side then immediately struck out with an overarm punch with her right. Estoc's head twitched. His expression remained unchanged. _Kurnous!_ Izuru's blows fell upon Estoc's shoulders. The retaliating hook dropped Izuru's guard long enough for Estoc to power in and sink his paw in to Izuru's stomach and propel her at the rope. In Estoc's embrace, Izuru beat against his sides. The chime of the bell was followed by a bellow of, "Time! Fucking break it!"

Estoc loped away. A towel, flung at him from the crowd, he caught and wiped his face with. Wavers and articles of clothing were thrust at him. _Why does he ruin the material with scribblings?_ Izuru leant on her knees and rested her back against a post. Those nearest to her offered nothing but baleful looks. _Do you know something I don't?_ Izuru kept her eyes on Estoc.

On commencement of the second round, Izuru flung herself at Estoc, her fists pumping back and forth. His arms protecting his face, Estoc gave ground. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._ Izuru wrenched Estoc's head down on to her knee after battering at his guard. Whilst down, Estoc's hands grabbed Izuru's legs and began pulling. Izuru slapped her hands against Estoc's ears then cracked her knee against his head. Estoc reeled away, his hand covering the broken bridge of his nose. _First blood._

Booing resonated from the crowd. _Surprised?_ Izuru glanced up at Veen, watching from the platform with the announcer. _What runs through your mind now, human? Much money will be lost here today._ Estoc rounded upon Izuru, opening up. Izuru counted off the incoming blows. _Left, right, uppercut, straight right._ Her forearms burned. Estoc's next swing skipped over Izuru's shoulder. Izuru dealt a right hook at Estoc's face, connected with his temple then swung a backhand blow. She pivoted a full turn, straightened her right arm and brought the forearm crashing in to Estoc's temple. A sheen of sweat coated the human. Both combatants lowered their fists and parted to their corners of the ring at the sound of the bell. Estoc tapped his fists against those of a child's and ruffled its hair. A flask of liquid he declined. _How many rounds of this again?_ Izuru squatted against the post and rubbed her face on her sleeve. _Calm. Breath easy._ The post at Izuru's back trembled. The floor underneath her boots began vibrating. _No frequent occurrence?_ The noise of the crowd died away. Mutterings turned to chatter. Estoc no longer faced his fans and instead gazed at a spot on the floor, his brows low over his eyes.

" _You know the drill, ladies and gentlemen. Pack yourself and your families down to the crypt. Anybody with cellars, get there and stay there!"_

"Grandma." Estoc beckoned. "You alright getting down to the crypt now?"

"My boy, you be following me down there now. No more hanging around with strange xenos." An elderly human reached through the rope to Estoc. "You'd have had her in the fifth. Mark my words."

Estoc knelt down. "She fights like a wild animal, Grandma. Dead heat, that's my bet. I hope you didn't put money on me."

"Oh!" Estoc's grandma slapped his knee.

"Off you go, Grandma. I'll be along in a bit."

The humans, too preoccupied with dispersing, had left Izuru alone. _Far too many to attempt escape now. Exits are blocked. The windows are too high._ Izuru scanned the various large holes in the vaulted ceiling letting the early morning light in. _Not a chance_. A whistle came from the raised platform. Veen, a scowl on his face, waved at Izuru. " _Come here_ ," he mouthed.

"Boss's waiting, xenos." The cavalry sabre slid over the rope, its tip aiming at Izuru. "Look alive now."

 _Armoured beasts prowl freely_. Izuru extended her ears and shut her eyes. _Steel tracks and cannon institute imperial peace in all its hypocrisy._

"Hello?" The tip of the blade pricked the mesh of Izuru's sleeve.

 _How easy it is to be brave on the other end of a weapon._ Izuru left the ring. The sabre, joined by other hand weapons, never left her. Another rumble shook the glass in the windows. Running her tongue around her teeth, Izuru unwound her wraps and dropped them on the stone floor. A human pointed her up a narrow flight of spiralling stairs leading up to Veen.

"Made a lotta folks unhappy with that performance you did, darling."

Izuru's right eyebrow arched. "I expected better from your man."

"It was the _second_ round, stickie. You don't knock a man out in the second unless you want a lynching happening in short order."

"Why?"

"A rigged bout upsets stomachs, and shortly after that tables. Leaves a sour taste in the mouth if you know what I mean." Veen gestured at a pair of crates sitting upon a table against the wall. "You _do_ recognise these. I know you do."

"Nothing to do with me. I was the courier."

"You're really not that much use to me alive, are you? Or rather, that boy's not much use to me alive."

 _Ah, Saeros._ Izuru clasped her hands behind her back. "I am listening."

"Good, 'cause the neighbours have their music turned up too loudly, and I want you to demonstrate with these shooters why it's a very bad idea." Veen flipped the catches off and opened the lid. "Now, this one looks like an anti-tank launcher, recoilless rifle-thing. The other one's got some whacked-out antenna attached; I'm guessing anti-air. I want you to crack open one of the guv'nor's party-wagons and cook any daft cunts inside. Does that make perfect sense?"

"Are you prepared, from a logistics standpoint, to wage a war against a mechanised enemy that has control of the skies?"

"Air power's got no clout here. It's too built-up. Same thing with armour. It's too built-up an area to operate tanks and cars, leaving manpower the enemy's only option. It's a statement we seek, not a victory, though one enemy tank destroyed _is_ a victory for us. Same goes for any of the guv'nor's bully-boys, Tin Men, or Imperial troops, ain't that right, lads?" A chorus of ' _yeah'_ rang from Veen's bodyguards. "Right, John, you fetch the stickie some combats."

"My companion—"

"Is staying right with me for now. Don't you worry 'bout him. You just get intimate with this bangstick. I want my confirmed armour kill."

 _Have you any idea the horror you bring upon your people?_ Izuru kept quiet about that.

* * *

The thunder of the lead tank's Krupnok jerked Captain Pieyn very nearly out of his seat. "What the hell's he firing at?" Pieyn twisted to take the vox handset from his signaller. "You got Tanga, Six?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hello Tanga, this is Grota Zero Alpha. What are you engaging? Over." The commander of the Horus swept the street in front of the tanks with his glasses, turned back to Pieyn, and shook his head.

"Dunno what they're engaging up there, sir."

"Hello Tanga, this is Grota Zero Alpha. What are you engaging? Over."

"Sir, Ezra wants to speak to you." Pieyn's driver pointed at the Horus commander. The sergeant tapped his intercom then pointed at Pieyn.

"Shit. No reply from Grota. Get me Ezra, Six."

"Roger." The signaller turned his vox around in his lap and adjusted frequencies. "Ezra, sir."

"Hello Ezra Five-One, Grota Zero Alpha speaking. Can you see what Tanga is engaging? Over."

" _Hello_ _Grota Zero Alpha, this is Ezra Five-One. Tanga has returned fire with his pintle Fifty on unknown target. Over._ "

"Say again your last."

" _Ezra Five-One. I cannot see what Tanga is engaging. His target is blocked by a building. Over_."

"Roger…Out." Pieyn rubbed the handset with his thumb. "I'm getting out. Six, on me."

"Sir!" Pieyn's signaller exited the rear of the Chariot and ran around to Pieyn. "Sir, I've got Four-Zero Alpha on the other end."

"This is Zero Alpha."

" _Hello Zero Alpha, this is Four-Zero Alpha. What are we engaging? Over_."

 _We're not engaging anything!_ "This is Zero Alpha. Tanga has returned fire on unknown target out of my line of sight. Keep this channel clear—"

The lead tank's main battery exploded, a wreath of smoke surrounding the fat muzzle. A rush of warm air ballooned down the street. Pieyn and his signaller fell against the flank of the Chariot. "Keep this channel clear. Over!" Pieyn squeezed the handset against his ear, his other hand covering his free ear. "Six, get back in the vehicle." Pieyn tossed the handset at the signaller and knelt behind the rear of the Horus. The tank commander poked his head out of his cupola, seized the grips of his Krupnok and fired. One continuous thunderclap battered at Pieyn's ears. _Fucking hell, that's loud!_ Pieyn waited for the commander to cease fire then ran out past the Horus. _You'd better hold your fire, Ezra._

At the rear of the second tank, Pieyn opened a compartment and plucked a wired handset out. "This is Grota Zero Alpha, put me in contact with your sunray at once!"

" _Hello Grota Zero Alpha, this is Tanga One-One Delta. If you want to speak to my sunray, use the other unit. Over."_

"Roger. Out." Pieyn slammed the handset back in its case. Darting around the Mark V's flank, Pieyn scooted to the troop commander's tank. _You'd better have a bloody good explanation for opening fire!_ "Hello Tanga One-Zero Alpha, this is Grota Zero Alpha. What are you engaging? Over." Another thunderous roar as the Krupnok belted out a stream of lead. Pieyn replaced the handset and climbed on to the rear deck, stepping on to a grill covering the chugging engine. Pieyn leant across and shook the troop commander's shoulder. "What are you—?" The troop commander raised the flap of his helmet. "What are you engaging?"

"Muzzle flash. Fifth storey building to my ten o'clock. Eighty yards." The commander removed his glasses and passed them to Pieyn.

Pieyn glassed the target. "Well there aren't any storeys left of that building, Sergeant, you've just about obliterated it. Did you have incoming rounds?"

The commander shrugged and pulled back on the Krupnok's charging handle. An unfired cartridge dropped from the underside of the weapon. "Are you staying or going?"

"Fucking trigger-happy bastards!" Pieyn leapt inside his Chariot as it drew alongside him.

"Did they have contact or not, sir?"

"I don't know, Sarn't. Six?"

"Sir, Zero for you."

"This Grota Zero Alpha. Over."

" _This is Zero, Sunray speaking. What were the rounds we just heard? Over_."

"Zero Alpha reports Tanga's Ironsides engaged and destroyed enemy position in multi-storey building at Tanga's ten o'clock, eighty yards to our front. Target obliterated. I say again, target obliterated. Over."

" _Roger. Keep updating me. Out_."

" _Fuck…_ " Pieyn opened and closed his fist. His left knee began jiggling. His chrono read 09:19. _Just let us all come through this in one piece._

* * *

The earth groaned. Stray hounds barked at a procession of ragged civilians brandishing firearms in the air and chanting at the tops of their voices. _Rifles and automatics against tanks? They'll be slaughtered._ Izuru hopped the three-foot gap between buildings, the anti-tank launcher clamped underneath her arm. Seven of Veen's soldiers accompanied her, all in camouflage, body armour, and hard cover. A baggy, faded smock with frilled cuffs covered Izuru's compression shirt. A ceramite helmet with a blotchy green cover wobbled around on her head.

"Set up here." John thumbed Izuru to kneel beside him. "Got a food field of fire."

"We have a better view across the street. In defilade. Once I fire, we displace to secondary position—"

"Shut up." John curled his hand and swiped it at Izuru. Izuru caught it and began squeezing.

"Oi, enough o' the foreplay!" Rifle muzzles rushed at Izuru. She caught sight of her Lugo's six-slot flash-hider amongst them.

 _I think that one is mine_.

"Aaah, you fucking—" John shook his reddened hand. "I'm gonna cut off those tits and feed 'em to the dogs!"

"John, John!" Errol tapped his ear. "Listen. You hear that? Malky's armour's rolling up."

"Just get that fucking AT ready. Don't fucking fire until I say."

Izuru peered down at the human trail snaking through the streets. The cathedral's spire stood above the rooftops to the northwest. The building opposite her was five storeys of flat red brick and shattered glass. Precious few of the slums' residents were trickling inside, most electing to remain on the street.

"Time is it, Rosey?"

A soldier bearing a belt-fed stubber replied. "'Bout twenty past nine."

"Quick time for a brew-up?"

"Tea'll be too hot when we get contact. Set that fucking Granin up, son." John gave a thumbs-up to a unit of militia setting up on top of the building across the street from the marchers. "Got them grenades handy, Errol?"

"Taped four of 'em together. Make a good tank-killer if we drop 'em from up here."

"Check. Fuel bombs?"

A human shook a sack from his shoulder. "Six bottles ready to go."

"Spread your fire along the rooftops before the turning below us. The tanks must slow to a crawl before they turn south. Strike as one," Izuru said.

John held up three fingers. "San, Elsa, and Rosey. You three take a grenade bundle and fuel bomb each and head along the roofs. Wait for the rocket launcher to fire then drop your bombs." John leant over the edge with a pair of glasses. "Yep, that's our recce boys back." Izuru followed the human's point of interest. A quadbike cut through the crowds below, two of Veen's soldiers riding. The driver signalled John. "Right, we're on. Barricades should be in place."

 _Has this been rehearsed?_ Izuru laid the green tube down and opened a container bearing three cylinders housing the warheads. Izuru popped open the protective casing and slid the round out. Etched in to the cylinder were notches with numbers ranging between zero and 10 with a Y-shape in the centre of the weapon denoting range. _Point-blank range_. Izuru twisted the nose back from 400 yards to zero. She unlocked the launcher's swing-out bore and, checking the tube was clear, slipped a chunky cartridge in. _Are these even anti-tank?_ The letters and numbers printed on the cartridge meant nothing to her, not to mention the coloured ring, which was black. _FFV502. Impact or delayed fuse, I wonder? Did it even occur to these humans to check?_

"How many?" John shouted down to the humans on the quadbike. "How many?"

"Two tanks, an armoured car, and a bunch of Sixers."

"Infantry?"

"Packed in the Sixers."

"How many Sixers?"

"I Dunno."

"Take off."

 _Loaded, cocked, safety on. Simple._ Izuru lifted the launcher on to her right shoulder and squared up to the telescopic sights. _Ah, I must fire this left-handed. No matter. How deep have you dug your rathole to sit out the coming storm, Whelp? Not deep enough, I imagine._

"Keep them ballistics in check now. Nothing for you to shoot at yet." Heavy automatic gunfire buzzed through the streets in the distance. The rooftop began to quiver. Tiles on the slanted sections of the roof slid off and fell in to the street. The rattle of tracks and squeak of road wheels increased.

 _They certainly have something to shoot at._ Izuru rested the launcher in her lap and waited. John and the other three humans sat facing inwards, their fingers resting near the triggers of their weapons, eyes on Izuru. The humans on the rooftop opposite were leaping the gaps between their buildings and hunkering down. A globule of spit landed at Izuru's feet. A human female, the Lugo cradled in her arms, launched another flurry of spittle at Izuru.

"Now's the time." John shook a packet of cigarettes and tossed one to the woman. "Blow, don't spit. Let's see some smoke rings now." Lighting up, the woman blew clouds of grey smoke at Izuru. Izuru remained stock-still. _Tank armour is weakest on top and below. One round from the launcher will be enough to bring the lead tank to a halt and bottle up the other vehicles. Surprise, the most potent of all assets, will then grant me a kill-shot._

"Loud, aren't they. Is that a horn?"

"It's changing direction. Our barricades are funnelling them along one road."

"Feels like an earthquake shaking my teeth loose. _Mmmn_."

"Want a peep?" John flashed a hand-mirror.

 _And see the light reflect._ Izuru folded her arms and rested her chin upon her chest. _When was this last washed?_

Screams peaked above the _pop-pop-pop_ of rifles. A heavy automatic – 0.5-calibre – boomed. "Louts." John peered over the wall. Izuru followed his eyes and saw civilians in ones and twos dancing about at the far end of the street loosing off rounds. Puffs of dirt kicked up around them. Several fell. The others made off. "Here we go, here we go." John signalled the other humans to stay still. "Stay down, xenos. Don't fire, don't fire. Wait 'til the armour's beneath us."

 _It is not I you need worry about. Many trigger-fingers itch, and none of them are mine._ Izuru, her cheek against the edge of the wall, watched a muzzle brake followed by a long gun tube edge in to view at the end of the street.

* * *

" _Grota Zero Alpha, Tanga One-Zero Alpha. Sigma Eight-Two advises alternate route. We have groups of militia prepped for ambush on the rooftops on both sides of our street. Over_."

"This is Grota Zero Alpha. How many and how are they armed?" Pieyn motioned the driver to halt. The Horus in front had left a hair's breadth of breathing room.

"Cutting it a bit fine there, sir." Pieyn's driver took the Chariot out of gear and set the handbrake.

" _This is Tanga One-Zero. Wait. Out_."

Pieyn released the transmit button. "There's militia on both sides of the street on the roofs up ahead."

"The Ironsides'll want us to recce ahead first." The sergeant tapped his fingers on the steering wheel."

" _Hello Grota Zero Alpha, this is Tanga One-Zero Alpha. Can your Cosmic precede our Ironsides? Over._ "

 _Oh, you yellow stain!_ Pieyn kept his thumb off the transmit. "He wants our scout car to soak up the incendiaries so he doesn't get his paint scratched."

"Hmm. Lucky guess, sir."

"Hello Tanga One-Zero. Solution impossible. My Cosmic cannot squeeze past your Ironsides. Over."

" _Hello Grota—_ " Pieyn jerked the handset away from his ear. Shrieks garbled the line.

"Fuck, they've been hit, sir. I saw a smoke trail."

" _Hello Grota Zero Alpha, this is Tanga One-One Delta. My sunray just took an anti-tank missile to his dorsal armour. I can see smoke coming from his turret. Over."_

"This is Zero Alpha. Can you see where the shot came from? Over."

" _One-One Delta. Affirm. Target eleven o'clock on the roof of the building at the end of the street. Engaging with my pintle. Over_."

"Zero Alpha. Roger. Keep up the pressure. Out." Pieyn tried the lead tank. "Hello Tanga One Zero Alpha, this is Grota Zero Alpha. Damage rep. Over."

"C'mon, just flatten the block!"

"He can't get his cannon high enough, Sarn't. Too tight here."

"What's the car doing?" The Horus turned out of the convoy and squeezed around 11D's tank, its sides scraping along the wall and the tank's flank.

"Ezra Five-One, this is Grota Zero Alpha. What are you doing? Over."

" _This is Five-One_ —" Pieyn's ears rang. Black smoke engulfed the Horus. The turret soared in to the air. Flames began to well inside the headless body.

"Aw, you cheeky fucker." The sergeant's hands went white. "Where'd they get those rockets from then?"

"Six, I want Mortar Platoon to debus and form a perimeter around the vehicles. I'll be back!" Pieyn slid from his seat, hit the road, and pelted back along the stationary Chariots. "Sarn't Major!" Pieyn pummelled upon the passenger door of the Chariot four vehicles back. "Stretcher team with security on me!"

"Sir!"

Accompanied by three teams of stretcher-bearers, Pieyn ran to his vehicle. "Sir, it's Zero. He wants an update!"

"Not now, Six."

"Sir, helmet." The sergeant, standing behind his open door with a .338 aimed at the rooftops, bowled a ceramite cover across the Chariot's interior. "Oi, the tank crew's taking off!" Three crewmen in coveralls, loose jacks trailing from their helmets, scattered past him without a backwards glance.

"Leave them, Sarn't. Cover the stretchers!" Pieyn beckoned to the stretchers and took off towards the burning Horus. The noise and reverberation from 11D's Krupnok brought tears to his eyes.

"Fire bomb!" A para shouted. "Contact, rooftop!" Mortar Platoon's rifles and Rekyls barked, ripping chunks of brick and cement up. Tiles splintered in to tiny pieces. The arm holding the burning incendiary reeled back.

"Sir, there's fuel and ammo in there!" A stretcher-bearer cried. Pieyn climbed up on to the Horus's fuel tanks and over the burning maw where the turret had sat. Clanging blows struck the Horus's front glacis. Rounds banged around Pieyn as he reached for the driver's front viewport and lifted it open. Bloody fingers fused to the cotton material of the gloves pattered at Pieyn. "Grab my wrists!" The driver's shining, blistered face slipped free of the flames' embrace. Pieyn pulled and kept on pulling until the driver's feet were out of the inferno. "Can you walk?" Pieyn threw the driver's arm around his neck and hauled him around 11D, underneath the chugging Krupnok. "Aargh, you fucker!" Deafened, he left the driver with the stretcher-bearers and mounted the Horus.

"Sir, they're gone!" The sergeant major tugged on the back of Pieyn's smock. "Better find some cover. You men, remove the stretchers."

Bullet scuffs coated Pieyn's door. Grasping the edge, Pieyn swung inside and slapped his hand against his ear. "Sir, Tanga." Six thrust the vox at Pieyn.

"Hello Tanga, this is Grota Zero Alpha. Over."

" _This is Tanga One-One Delta. My sunray is down. His Ironside is cooking off. Can you back the convoy up? I'd like to try for the barricade to the south."_

"This is Grota Zero Alpha. Wait. Over."

" _Roger. Out_."

"Six, all callsigns."

"Yessir." Six fiddled with the channels. "Got it, sir."

"All Grota callsigns, this is Grota Zero Alpha…" 11D's tracks clattered. "Back your vehicles up. Back your vehicles up!" Fat fuel tanks edged towards the Chariot. "C'mon, Sarn't, give it a boot."

"No room to manoeuvre yet, sir." The sergeant reached for his mirror. "We're waiting on Mortar Platoon's Sixers – three of them." The mirror shattered. "Whoa, these civvies aren't playing about!" The sergeant yanked his hand back and lowered the armoured screen.

"Hello, Tanga One-One Delta, this is Grota Zero Alpha. My Sixer cannot move. I am blocked. Over."

" _This is One-One Delta. Understood. You've got room to drive around the wrecks. We'll bash through these buildings and meet you further south. Over._ "

"This is Grota Zero Alpha. Roger and be careful. Out." _He's mad taking off on his own._

With five feet of separation, 11D pivoted to the left, clouds of dirt swirling around the tracks. The troop commander ducked inside his cupola and pulled the hatch shut. "Making his own route, is he?" The sergeant switched on the Chariot's wipers.

"All Grota callsigns, this is Grota Zero Alpha. Get moving and watch your dispersion. Out." Pieyn wiped his smarting cheeks on the backs of his gloves. _Throne, those two burned alive in the Horus. How the hell could this have happened?_ "Let's go, Sarn't. We're sticking to our route. Drive 'round the tank. Drive 'round it."

* * *

Izuru's left shoulder ached. The force of the recoilless rifle and the shockwave pummelled bruises in to her skin. _Two down, one left._ Wispy smoke poured from the launcher's bore. _Gloves!_ Izuru pried the casing out, set the weapon down and reached for the last warhead.

"The tank's backing off!" John glassed the dismounted infantry crouched around the Sixers. "Infantry's mounting up."

"Did we win?"

"Wait…No, the tank's turning. Hurry up, stickie!" Izuru eased the dial down to zero and fed the cartridge in to the bore.

"Is she fucking deaf?"

A cloud of dust swamped the street, obscuring everything but the crackling flames. Smoke from the tank's exhaust trailed away through a hole in the buildings. "Where's it going?"

"Nowhere fast. You, stickie, follow me." Izuru abandoned the empty warhead case and hefted the launcher on to her right shoulder. John and another human slung their weapons and clambered up a trellis and on to the adjacent roof.

"Careful, there's loose tiles up there." The human holding the Lugo poked Izuru in the small of the back with the muzzle. "Move, xenos." John helped his companion up on to the sloping roof then the pair scurried across and skidded down to a rickety balcony. Izuru, the launcher balanced upon her shoulder, climbed one-handed. The other two humans followed beneath her.

"Stickie!" John shouted up from the balcony. Izuru danced over the trembling tiles, grasped the edge and lowered herself. "Hurry."

 _Why the need for haste?_ Two pairs of feet hit the planks behind her, ammunition jangling. Ahead, glass shattered. Rounds punched through thin plasterboard, sending splinters flying. "In here." John vaulted through an open window and leapt up some stairs. He whistled down to Izuru. "Come on, you'll miss it!"

"Move your arse, xenos." Izuru shouldered open a door at the top of the stairs and brought the launcher over to the parapet. Heaps of wood splinters, stone, and plasterboard exploded from the adjacent building. The tank's body heaved itself through the choke, the plough coated in dirt, and rolled through a stone wall, flattening it.

"Hit it!" Izuru shrugged the launcher from her shoulder and offered it to John. _If I can do it, a human should be able to._

"Show it how it's done, Johnny."

"Pop that tin-can open."

"Your loss." John let his rifle sit against his hip and took the launcher.

"Back away now, xenos." The launcher's muzzle wobbled.

John put the launcher on his knee and glared at the trigger group. "Did you…?" The launcher banged, smoke spitting from the flared tail. The rocket soared through the air far above the tank, walloping the corner of a building one hundred yards away. A militiaman, receiving a face-full of backblast, dropped his Granin and clapped his hands over his face. "Reload!"

 _Not a chance._ Izuru stepped back, spun, clamped her arm over an automatic, and dragged the human around in a circle. His weapon let fly with a long, uninterrupted burst, emptying its magazine. Izuru let the human's momentum carry him off his feet and on to his back. She bent her arm and dropped her elbow in to the human's gut. His choked cry Izuru silenced with a fist to his Adam's apple. "No!" The human female, unwounded, dropped her rifle and drew a serrated machete with a curving blade. Izuru waited for the blade to fall then seized the woman's wrist and rammed her other hand against the woman's elbow. The machete fell from her fingers. Izuru whirled the human around and kicked her behind the knee. "No, please—" Izuru snapped the woman's neck and shoved the body away.

Militia appeared on a rooftop opposite where the tank had driven. One pointed at Izuru and shouted. Izuru dived for the Granin stubber and racked the action. The drum affixed to the stubber's underbelly, pregnant with steel-jacketed cartridges, rattled. Izuru laid the open sights upon the militiamen and squeezed the trigger. Puffs of blood and shredded clothing tore through the militia. Dirt from rounds impacting around her flew in to Izuru's eyes. A human threw down his rifle and raised his hands. Izuru turned her sights on him and let loose. A thin haze of dust covered the rooftop in the wake of the shooting, coated with blood and bodies. Her ears numbed, Izuru looked at the steel link belt snaking out of the weapon and the piles of spent cartridges pooling at her feet. Burnt propellant rose in clouds from the Granin's gas ports. She left the weapon and retrieved her Lugo, its corresponding supply of .300 magazines, her wraithbone knife, laspistol, and grenades. Her blade slipped through the electrical tape holding four in a bundle. Keeping the threesome for herself, Izuru crouched and twisted the pin loose. John leant against the low wall, a shining mess of red decorating his thigh. Izuru took his hand and transferred the grenade from her hand to his. "Hold on." The pin Izuru flicked away in to the wrecked houses below. The Lugo resting against her side, Izuru aimed her laspistol and descended the stairs.

At ground level, Izuru tacked on to the treadmarks left by the tank. Its rumble still lingered in the vicinity. The lesser growl of the human convoy came from her right. _The humans now turn south, their egos no doubt bruised._ Unarmed civilians rushed past Izuru who tapped her forefinger upon the Lugo's body. Her thumb rested on the safety, ready to flick it to 'semi' or 'auto' in an emergency. _Apparently damage to civilian property is no concern of his._ Izuru noticed a small stuffed toy half buried in the muck left by the tank's treads. _How I wish your petty little infights would spell the end of your race. But no, why must you cling on like dried-up excrement on a beast's hindlegs?_

On the trail of wrecked buildings left by the tank, Izuru came upon a street the tank had turned on to. The track marks though were heading east instead of west. _An error in navigation?_ Izuru placed her back against a pillar and peered up and down the street. A few humans still scurried about, no doubt looking for holes to hide in. _Flee for your lives, worthless beasts._ Izuru crossed the street and booted down a door. Empty cages were stacked three high along the side of a hallway. Izuru passed them by and raised a window to climb through. Derelict ground lay beyond with many ups and downs. Water pipes poked out of the ground. Pools of stagnant water lay underneath. The dregs of Norn's lower classes ran about, their rags flapping. _Blood of the Nightspear!_ Izuru's claws dug in to the rotten wood. _It cannot be…_

Dirt crumbled beneath Izuru's soles. Her Lugo in her hands, she bounded across the dead ground and skidded down a slope upon her backside, her boots slamming in to the human's back. "Mother!" Korsarro bleated. Izuru took hold of the human's top and shunted him down to the pool of water. "Mother, stop!"

"Where is he?" Izuru pushed the human's head underwater. A stream of bubbles rose to the surface. His shoulders bucked.

"He helped us." Korsarro pulled at the human's foot. "Mother, please. Don't hurt him."

"Where is he?" Izuru pulled the human out by his collar and threw him against the slope. "Where is he?" She drove her palm in to his gut. The human screwed up his streaming face and threw up down his front.

"Don't hurt him! The corsair took Ilic. The human saved us. He was kind to us." Korsarro nuzzled the human's shoulder. "I am sorry, friend-human."

"Whelp! You dare touch my children."

"P…Please."

"He is like no other. Please do not harm him."

Izuru drew her laspistol and pointed it at the human's face. "Not in front of the wean," he whispered. "He's a good lad. Don't make him watch."

"Ask for his name, Mother—"

"Be silent, child."

"I'm sorry. I lost his brother. It's on me." The human clutched his stomach. "I'm sorry, Tyssa."

"That is not my name." Izuru lowered the laspistol and flipped it around. "You will take my son to the cathedral and hide in the underground crypts. Observe the spires to your northwest." Izuru pushed the laspistol at the human. "You are responsible for his life. Do not make me regret this."

"Mm-mm. They see me with a stickie wean, they'll kill us both. The lad's safest with you."

Izuru snatched at Korsarro's collar and held him aloft "FLY!" She placed Korsarro upon the lip of the hole and pushed him forwards and set her helmet upon his head. "FLY!"

"What?" The earth quivered underneath the human. A gun tube reared above his head. "Go! Go!" Behind the human, Izuru, and Korsarro, the tank crested the ridge and slammed down on its chassis.

"Take cover in those buildings!" Izuru dropped Korsarro on the ground, knelt, and pulled the pin from a grenade bundle. The fuse burning in her hands, Izuru pitched the bundle at the tank.

"Tyssa!" The tank's bow gun bellowed. A plume of grey smoke coated the front glacis, parting as the bows cut through it. Izuru broke to the right of the tank, outside of the bow gun's field of fire, and reached a row of buildings.

"Korsarro!" Izuru ripped an awning aside.

"Tyssa!" The human crouched with Korsarro in his arms in a derelict shack. "Over 'ere."

"The cathedral—" Flurries of splinters sliced through the building between them. Hot, dry air billowed over Izuru. The projectile whizzed through the thin walls and carried on its flight. Her skin tingling, Izuru snarled at the human. "The cathedral. Now!"

"C'mon, son. Iggery." The human picked up Korsarro and bundled him through a hole in the wall behind him. "Take care." He raised his thumb at Izuru.

 _He insults me. The cheek!_ Izuru's fist curled. _Aah, Saarania is here. I know it._ She left the buildings and crossed through a hovel the tank's shell had obliterated. The beast itself thundered about behind her, taking fire from disgruntled locals. _And if I do not find you. T'will be you that finds me. Destiny wills it._


	16. Chapter 16

**The Slums, 09:32**

"It's clear. C'mon." The boy whined and dragged at my sleeve. "Your mum's gone to find your brother, mate." I gathered the boy underneath his armpits and lifted him down from a windowsill. "Ssh. Keep quiet now."

A dirt track ran straight between the hovels, leading towards a road coated in a haze. _Where's that tank gone?_ The boy hauled on my arm and pointed at the road. "Oh, shit." A Sixer clipped the remains of an outcrop of brick and halted amidst a wreath of dust. Soldiers in camouflaged smocks and pot helmets – Joparr paras – spilled out. A few wore gas masks. Among them was a para in a dirty maroon beret. _An officer?_

"Set up your perimeter! Sarn't Major, I want the wounded aboard." The officer lifted a chrono attached to a loop upon his body armour. "Six, you got the time?" He addressed another para wearing a headset over his beret. The signaller crouched behind the open passenger door, his vox set cradled in his arms.

"'Bout half-past nine, sir."

"Exact time?"

"Zero nine three-three, sir." A round hammered the door. The officer ducked behind it and unbuttoned the holster on his hip.

"Contact!"

"Contact! Gunmen, thirty yards, my eleven." A prone Rekyl gunner began firing bursts of ball and tracer. Paras around him added to the output with their rifles. I pressed my hands over the boy's ears and hugged him close. _No use making a dash for the Sixers. Not with the little lad with me. What would they do with him?_ " _Ssh. S'okay_."

A para in a gas mask, lying next to the Rekyl gunner with a spare magazine prepped, dropped his rifle and gently laid his head on the ground. "Medic. Pull him back!" The gunner unclipped his magazine and rocked in the fresh load. "Sarn't!"

"We'll go when the shooting stops." I swallowed. _Please, God, let this end._ "Just want to go home, don't you, son? Yeah, I do too."

Stretcher-bearers bore away the wounded assistant gunner. Another para threw himself down beside the gunner and unbuttoned a magazine pouch. "Sarn't Major!" The officer beckoned to a para in hard cover. "Once the wounded are aboard, tell the troop commanders I want their men mounted up. We're moving on."

"Sir!"

"Wasting time here." The officer glanced at his chrono again.

 _Why's he so concerned about the time?_

"Twenty-five minutes, sir," the signaller said.

 _Twenty-five minutes 'til what?_ The shooting died away. Soon, only a few stray rounds cracked through the air. "C'mon, son." I walked the boy towards the parked Sixers. _Nice and slow now_.

A para standing behind the door of his vehicle trained his .338 on me. "You're intruding on a military operation. Back away now."

Another para, his face obscured by his gas mask, waved a machine pistol at me. "Piss off."

"We just want to get to the cathedral."

"Move that child out of here." A para in soft cover gesticulated from the passenger seat. "Are you deaf, boy?"

"Keep that crowd back." A para near the head of the column brought a Rekyl around to point at a small group of civilians shuffling across the street. Cudgels were drawn by paras and smacked against the Sixers' flanks.

"Back! Get Back!" I scooped up the boy and took off back along the side street. Bursts from the Rekyl broke the stillness. Bangs and rattles from .338s and machine pistols furthered the slaughter. Bricks split around me. Splinters from broken timbers exploded outwards. Coatings of dirt blossomed within the ruins. I barged in to a house with intact walls and dumped the boy inside a cast-iron bathtub then climbed in beside him. "Sssh. It's alright. This'll stop frag and stray rounds—" A section of tiles above us shattered, dousing us in fragments. I flung my arm around the boy. He didn't make a sound _. Brave lad. Your mother's proud of you._

* * *

Four humans, oblivious to the firefight occurring only a few blocks away, stood together chatting. _Male, military age, passive._ Izuru spotted the handguns and machine pistols. Two were held at their owner's sides, the other two bulged in trouser pockets.

Though the street she trod was wide open, not one of the four humans turned in her direction. Izuru, bareheaded, held the Lugo against her side. Her thumb moved the safety switch around to 'semi'. Fifty feet, forty feet, thirty feet. Izuru kept an easy pace; no more than a gentle stroll. At twenty feet, Izuru snapped the Lugo's stock to her shoulder and raised the muzzle. "Shit, it's—" The Lugo spoke eight times. Four double-taps boomed through the street. Four bodies slumped. Blood pooled underneath them and trickled towards the gutter. Smoke coiled from the Lugo's flash hider. Izuru lowered the carbine and bent down and gathered the fallen weapons. _Open-bolt function._ Izuru removed the magazines from the weapons and cleared the pistol chambers. The magazines she kicked down a drain. _Let that be a warning._

"Xenos!" A child shrieked. "Xenos!"

 _Send them all. I await you, Saarania._ Izuru tilted her carbine and checked the chamber. A smooth, tarnished surface replaced the dirt underfoot. Izuru moved through a pair of open double-doors and inside a covered promenade. Glass crunched under her boots. More of the stuff covered the floor of the promenade. _Was this once an arcade? A place of trade._ Empty shops sat abandoned, their shelves gathering dust. Vermin squeaked in the shadows. Cobwebs hung in thick clumps. Remains of fires – ash and burnt wood – littered shop floors amongst glass bottles, crushed metallic cans, and used wrappers. Stone pillars formed a rectangle around an open area underneath a skylight. A pool of rainwater had formed where the floor had partially collapsed. Hedera grew from gaps in the floor, climbing up the pillars and snaking around them.

Izuru stood behind a pillar and took aim. Feet slapped upon the floor, clattering down the shallow incline on the opposite side of the room. Seven humans belted in to the light. At the gang's head, a human fired a snub-nosed stub revolver. Izuru laid her sight upon him and squeezed her trigger twice. The half dozen humans split and hid behind the pillars. The seventh collapsed face-first in the pool, his weapon slipping in to the murk. Two bloody tattoos decorated his torso, staining the grey material of his shirt dark. Clouds of blood spread through the water.

Machine pistols barked, their owners darting in and out of cover, loosing off long bursts one-handed. Rounds zinged around Izuru. She returned fire, switching between targets. Under cover of a pair of machine pistols, a human with an automatic pistol swung around a pillar on the other side of the pool and scooted forwards. Izuru sent a double tap at the gunmen on her side then switched to her left hand. The flanker fired his pistol in Izuru's general direction, his free arm covering his face. Izuru put two rounds in the human's hip and thigh. His legs giving way under him, the human fell on his shoulder. His hand scrabbled for the pillar. Magazines dropped. Izuru pumped the trigger at the left row of pillars then whipped the Lugo about and fired at the humans hidden on her side. Each ducked behind their respective cover. Izuru stormed forwards, taking cover one pillar closer to the gunmen. She noticed the human in the centre stirring. Half in, half out of the pool, the human lifted his head from the scummy water and tried wriggling away. Izuru put a round in his arm and the human's movement ceased. _Attempt a sortie. Rescue your accomplice. Or are you made of sterner stuff?_

Automatic fire perforated the air. Three humans sprang out of cover and unloaded at Izuru. She replied with six double-taps then crouched and switched hands, leaning around the right side of the pillar. The two silent humans launched themselves in to the open, firing their pistols at random. Paint chippings and little bits of stone flew overhead. The Lugo found flesh, flooring a runner. The other skidded in the water and fell over. Izuru pulled out her empty magazine, flipped the taped pair over, and inserted the reload. A crisp ' _click'_ and the Lugo returned to battery. A gunman toting a stockless machine pistol broke away from the pillar. Holding his weapon sideways, the gunman sprayed behind him and fled. Izuru turned her optic on the unwounded runner and shot him in the back. The two remaining humans pointed their machine pistols around the pillars and fired blind. One emptied its magazine – a two-second burst – the other jammed. Izuru slipped out from cover and, aiming over her sights, gunned down the human fiddling with his jammed weapon. The last standing human bolted. _Five down. Two remain._

Once the dropped weapons were disabled, Izuru took the path the two gunmen had fled along; a gentle slope leading up to two pairs of doors with broken panes. _No human carries himself with such haste, even with his tail between his legs._ Izuru tracked the Lugo across the shopfronts, glass shards shifting under her feet. Izuru stayed still and listened. From a shop a little further up the slope, glass crackled. Izuru jogged up and hopped through the front window. A gunman kicked his weapon out from behind a counter and showed his empty hands. He rose, his hands in the air. Izuru squeezed off two shots. A full magazine ejected from the machine pistol. Izuru pocketed it and left the shop. She caught sight of the last gunman, unarmed, running for the doors. The red dot found the fleeing human's back. Silence followed the last echo. _Seven down._

Sunlight shone on the street outside. Izuru kept to the shadows just inside the door and checked both ways. _Retain or swap magazines?_ Izuru removed the Lugo's taped magazine and sliced the electrical tape with a fingernail. The empty steel Izuru dropped on the floor, keeping the other magazine. _Two-thirds full._

A trio of gunmen ran along a raised ferrocrete walkway, the lead human letting loose with a stream of bullets. Izuru followed the human's head with the Lugo, led a little, and fired. Pink mist ruptured from the human's skull. The human behind snatched at his fallen ally's weapon. The third human held a bottle aloft with a burning rag stuffed inside it. Izuru's fire pursued the duo along the walkway until both slipped out of sight down a flight of stairs. The noise of their feet Izuru followed, bringing her around to the base of the stairwell. The gunman vaulted over the bars and opened fire before his feet hit the ground. Izuru advanced at the human and put two rounds in his heart before he had recovered from the stumble. The bomber jumped the last three steps and drew back his arm. Izuru worked the trigger six times, shattering the glass. Burning fuel spilled from the bottle, engulfing the human. Flailing his arms, the human wailed. Izuru put her last three rounds in him.

The stench of burning flesh rearing behind her, Izuru dumped her magazine, fitted a fresh load, and peered around a corner. Heads wavered behind bushes. Stubby muzzles poked around the trunks of stunted trees. Breaking from cover, Izuru strafed to the right, putting the trees between her and the enemy. Rounds zipped past, devouring pieces of the wall behind her. Taking cover behind a tree, Izuru alternated between high and low posture and sent snap shots at the gunmen. A quick lull in the shooting and Izuru leaned out, took aim, and shot a human hiding in some bushes. A second gunman, hiding next to him, fell on his backside and scrambled away. _Brainless vermin._ Izuru ignored the fleeing rabble, exchanged hands and opened fire on the humans cowering behind a collection of bins and, further back, a crumbling wall. With their heads down, Izuru strafed left, blasting at their cover, her forefinger very quickly becoming sore with repeated pulls. With neither party poking his weapon out of cover, Izuru charged their positions.

"No, please!" Izuru worked her trigger five times, not bothering to look at the targets before moving on to the next position.

"We surrender—" Izuru fired point-blank, emptying the rest of her magazine in to the three humans cowering behind a wall.

 _Show yourself, corsairs! Am I not making enough noise for your like?_ Izuru tossed aside her spent magazine and shoved in a new one. _Let word spread of these deeds._ Izuru shouldered open a door with a wire screen bolted to it and climbed sideways up a set of stairs. _Where are you?_ A painted green number flaked on the wall of every floor. _One, two, three, four, five._ Izuru glanced between a door on the sixth floor and the upward flight. _Stairwell clear._

 _Clack-clack_. Izuru ducked her head and leapt back down the stairs. Glass panes crashed where her head had been. A _bang_ louder than a handgun boxed her hearing _._ A human jumped the stairs two at a time and thrust the muzzle of a shotgun underneath the banister. A red shell dropped between the stairs. A second bang Izuru felt pass by her right shoulder, punching a dozen holes in the brickwork. She placed her backside upon the steps and fired at the underside of the stairs. Through the noise of ringing bells, Izuru heard a screech. She took off to the floor below and aimed up the stairs. A third shot blasted the surface she had vacated. _Cunning swine._ Izuru pushed open the door on the fourth floor and shut it behind her. A glazed glass window at breast height separated her from the stairwell. Izuru ducked out of sight and drew her automatic from its holster. Feet clomped down the stairs. The gunman slotted cartridges in to his weapon's magazine. Izuru flinched as glass and a shower of pellets roared over her. A foot pushed the door inwards, the edge gathering a pile of glass and shunting it at Izuru. Izuru raised her pistol and pointed it at the widening gap underneath the door's hinges, sighting the human's left heel. A much louder and genuine shriek pitched on the other side of the door. The gunman fell on his back and rolled around, grabbing for his foot. Izuru squeezed twice then fired a fourth time. Only once the human's thrashings had ceased did she point her pistol around the edge of the door. _A foul, brutal weapon_. Izuru nudged the shotgun away from the body and picked it up and pumped the worn wooden slide. Four red cartridges dropped from the magazine and one sprang from the chamber. Izuru let the weapon go between the stairs then frisked the human's bloodstained jacket. A half dozen shells, green-bodied, knocked together. _No knife, no sidearm, no backup._

The Lugo in her hands, Izuru made the seventh floor. After glancing at the stairs below for movement, Izuru eased the door inwards and peeped through the crack underneath the hinges. Lights flickered inside hanging bulbs, illuminating an empty corridor. The door nearest Izuru shut. Izuru's jerked the Lugo upright and stitched a pattern across the wood. Steel glinted further along the corridor. A machine pistol chattered, the lead scything through the overhead lights. Izuru set her shoulder in to the door and booted it in. _Where is the weapon?_ Izuru rolled the fallen body over with her toe. _No…_ A young human female stared at her, three red holes in her chest. _Oh, Isha, Kurnous, Kaela…_ Izuru flinched as rounds whipped down the corridor. She turned the Lugo's selector to 'auto'. The hail of lead subsiding, Izuru assaulted forwards. Two humans crouched in rooms opposite one another. Izuru bore down on them, keeping both in cover with single shots. Left, right, left, right. The human in the room on the left ran. The .300 cartridges in his back bowled him on to his front. A red-hot lance sliced through Izuru's left arm. She swung the Lugo around and, clamping it underneath her left arm, sprayed at the gunman behind her. Rounds thudded against flesh.

 _Bastard._ Izuru pressed the Lugo's magazine-release. Gunsmoke formed a fine mist in the corridor. Propellant and a coppery, tangy taste sucked the moisture from Izuru's tongue. Three humans barrelled from doorways at the end of the corridor. Shotguns and machine pistols filled the open space with torrents of lead and pellets. Ricochets pinged around. Izuru let the empty carbine hang and drew her sidearm. _Grenade_. Izuru plucked the threesome from a pouch and tore at the tape with her teeth. Over the din, laspistols spoke. The gunmen's cries ceased. _Who?_ Izuru aimed out of cover. A being, silver-haired, hung upside down from a hole in the ceiling, his twin lasblasters smoking. On locking eyes with Izuru, the being grinned and pulled himself up through the hole. _Vliss!_

The corsair scampered across the floor above. Izuru fired upwards. _Aah, useless._ She shoved the pistol back in its holster. _Why did I not give this to the Whelp and keep the lasblaster? Damn him for…_ Izuru fed a loaded magazine to the Lugo and released the bolt. _Damn his human face. How I want to pummel it to a pulp._

Vliss dropped from a scaffold outside. Izuru rounded the corner and shot out the window Vliss flashed past. She reversed the Lugo and battered at the glass teeth remaining in the panes.

 _Catch me if you can._

 _Stand and fight, damn you, Corsair!_ Izuru grasped the upper corners of the window and lifted herself through. _Your time is over. Face justice._

 _The same justice you showed Maess?_ Vliss skidded along a platform and let go of ladder. _How is it that you no longer can tell friend from foe, Outcast?_

Izuru slashed through a sheet with her knife and dropped to a platform below. She tilted the Lugo's muzzle down and wrapped a hand around the magwell and fired at the Corsair. _Kaela!_ A vehicle engine started. Izuru slid sideways down a plank and stuck her hand out. Swinging around on a pole, she saw a human automobile pull out from under the scaffolding. _On which side do the humans drive on?_ Izuru placed her red dot upon the far-right side of the car and sent a round through the roof. The car accelerated then began turning to the right. Izuru followed its progress until it pulled out of sight. A plume of smoke followed a crunch of rent alloy and broken glass. _Got you._

* * *

A burning Sixer careered along a street and collided with a corner of a building, taking out a support. _Didn't they just leave us?_ I clutched the boy to me and tried backing further underneath the wide slab of ferrocrete. A para, flames licking his smock, pushed open the passenger door and fell out. Gunmen all around us fired at the stalled convoy from rooftops. _Shit, it's bedlam._ A _whump_ and the burning Sixer's fuel tank went. I covered the boy's ears. " _Fuck."_

Another Sixer pulled up beside the crashed Sixer. "Cap is gone!" The para hauled a vox set with him and climbed aboard. _Their captain's gone?_ The Sixers rolled past and turned right. _They're going the same way as before. Are they lost?_ Behind the eight Chariots were six Pythons, their shells peppered by small-arms fire. The fourteen-strong convoy came to a halt on a long straight stretch to allow a pair of old tanks, bringing up the rear, to take position at the head of the column.

Flames rose around the crashed Sixer. I darted out and opened the passenger door. "Oh, God!" The Joparr officer's bleeding head rested on his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered. "I got you, sir. Hang on." I crawled into the burning Sixer and reached for the driver's seat. Flames had taken the two rear seats, smothering the two paras sitting there. _Wounded or dead before this?_ I heaved the officer from his seat and pulled him across to the passenger's side. Planting both of my boots on the side of the Sixer, I dragged the officer out by his collar and fell on my back. Flames coated him. I tore off the civilian jumper and beat the flames out. Hair singed and tingling, I got the officer under his armpits and pulled him across the road to the boy. _Heavy son of a bitch, aren't you?_

The boy poked me in the back and pointed at the tail-end of the departing convoy. _So Joparr don't go for that leave no man behind motto then. Heartless bastards._ "Yeah, I see 'em. Cathedral's still our best bet. Wish your mum had told me your name. Make things easier, wouldn't it?" I dug inside the officer's collar. "Wish she'd tell me her name too. Didn't get off to a very good start, we did." _Pieyn H,_ the disk read.

" _Eurghh_."

"Sir?" I rolled the jumper into a ball and stuffed it behind Pieyn's head. "Sixer took a knock there, sir. You're alright though."

"Name. Rank. Where's your rifle and cover?" Pieyn's one good eye squinted at the mis-mash of military and civvy clothes I wore.

"Larn, sir. Private o' Lairs. B Battery. F'you gimme an 'alf hour I'll give you the whole story. I'll tell ya why I'm like this." I flapped the jumper and pulled it back over my head. "Beg pardon, sir, but we 'aven't got 'alf an hour."

"No, no. Where's – where's the convoy?" Pieyn wiped at the muck coating his other eye. "Took a colossal knock. Can't see straight."

"Sixers and that lot rolled that way 'bout a minute ago, sir."

"…Oh, fuck. They didn't, did they?" Pieyn's cheeks ballooned. "You listen to me, Private." He squeezed my wrist. "In twenty minutes, there's gonna be an aerial bombardment of the slums. I've got to signal beforehand with different coloured flares, depending on whether the company's out of the danger zone…" A high-calibre weapon boomed. Even far away the shockwave seized the ground underneath us and shook. "Doesn't sound like we'll be clear in time. Bloody roadblocks. I need to get to a high vantage point to make the signal. I've got a flare gun and two cartridges…"

"Sir, um, I'm gonna 'ave to ask a stupid question now. If – if you'll forgive me…"

"There's no such thing as stupid questions, only stupid answers." Pieyn grimaced.

"Are you gonna die or not, sir?"

Pieyn laughed through gritted teeth. "A Joparr to a gaggle of lowlifes? I'm a para, Private."

"Good, 'cause I need someone wi' pips to vouch for me. I've been 'aving nightmares these last few days, sir."

"Well, gimme a full tits-up tragedy when we're back at barracks, son. You pick me up now. I'm not staying here to be lynched."

"Yes, sir." I pulled Pieyn's arm around my shoulders and helped him stand up.

"One of these hab-blocks 'round here should do nicely."

"Sir, there's these big pair o' fuck-off spires on the cathedral I noticed, sir."

"Cathedral, why there?"

"S'where I'm taking the little one, sir."

"Uh? Where'd he come from?"

"Found him out by himself, sir. Couldn't let him go now, could I? I just 'ope his mum's down in the crypts."

"Aah. Those crypts won't be deep enough," Pieyn muttered.

"Yes, sir. C'mon, son." I stuck out my hand for the boy to take.

"D'you normally speak to officers like that?"

"Just the ones I like, sir."

"Well fuck me. That's a discipline case if I ever heard of one."

"'Aven't even scratched the surface yet, sir." _Wow, he swears like a proper grunt, so he does. Doesn't seem like such a bad sort._

"One too many trips to the Glasshouse?"

"I'm just a bit of an odd one out, sir. I'm not proper Lairs. Just waitin' for me transfer that's all." The boy hissed at me and gave a tug on my hand. "Oi, the wean's smelt trouble!"

"Does he talk?"

"Dunno, sir. He won't allow me to check his tongue neither. Hide." I helped Pieyn through a gateway and sat him down out of sight of the street. "Stay still, lad." A civilian holding a wireless underneath one arm ran past. A rifle shot rang out and the civilian fell on his face. A woman appeared with a bolt-action rifle. The fallen civilian lifted himself off the ground and pulled his body forwards on his elbows. The woman worked the bolt, ejecting a brass cartridge, and put a second round in the man's back. Blood welling underneath the corpse, the woman slung her rifle and picked up the wireless.

"Dog-eat-dog," said Pieyn once the woman had gone. "You got a weapon, Private?"

"Yes, sir." I removed the laspistol from the back of my trousers.

"Right. Don't fire unless I say so. Finger off the trigger too."

"I've…I've never shot anyone before, sir."

"I wouldn't worry about that. As long as you shoot _at_ them, that should do the trick. Know how many rounds it takes on average to achieve a confirmed kill?"

"I – I – I dunno, sir."

"Thousands. So, don't worry about hitting anything. I know something most don't." Pieyn beckoned me closer and whispered, "if you think you're a bad shot, chances are the enemy's much, much worse." He winked. "Shall we?"

* * *

Izuru spread the wet pieces of her sleeve apart. Blood crystals oozed from the red line across her upper arm. _Superficial. Nothing broken._ She opened and closed her left hand. A slight tingling ran up and down her arm. _Where are you, Corsair?_

The car sat embedded in a wall with its front wheels up in the air. _Ilic?_ Izuru approached from the rear, the Lugo trained on the back window. The driver's door stood ajar. Smoke rose from underneath the crumpled bonnet. Izuru kept the Lugo pointed at the car and stooped to check the empty space underneath the wheels. _Clear_. Both passenger seats were empty. A blood splatter coated the battered windshield, the dashboard, the steering wheel, the seat, and the Corsair sitting in it. Izuru ran her eyes over the body and peeped through the crack in the door. A wire was wrapped around the door handle. _Booby-trap._ Izuru flung herself away from the vehicle and vaulted over the lip of a white-washed wall. Fiery fragments rippled through the street; scorching surfaces black.

 _Come-come, young Ranger._ Vliss squatted on the edge of a nearby rooftop, his twin lasblasters smoking. _The hunt. Thrilling, is it not?_

 _Not so when you find yourself the quarry._ Izuru rose from cover, spun and aimed at Vliss. Her two shots snapped at Vliss's heels. The Corsair waved and dropped out of sight. _How easy it is to flee to your mistress when she calls! Does she await me, Albino?_ Izuru gave chase, clawing at the wall of the building, leaping up in bounds.

 _You have no idea what awaits you, half-breed._ Vliss loosed a volley of lasbeams then backflipped from the roof on to a platform suspended from a crane. Covered crates wobbled upon the platform. Vliss spun around them. Izuru fired down at the lithe figure; a blur of colour. _The winch_. Izuru turned the Lugo on the winch. Cables snapped and crates slid from their moorings and fell to the ground fifty feet below. Vliss hopped to the next platform. Izuru shot the winch out and repeated it with the next three. But always Vliss's feet carried him one step further until he leapt off the last platform and dived through a glassless window. _A construction site?_ Izuru pulled the bungee cord holding the Lugo underneath her shoulder tight and backed away from the edge of the roof. _You tell your mistress I come for what is mine!_

Izuru ran and jumped, reached for the dangling cable and swung to the next one. Each swing brought her closer to the grey shell of the hab-block. Without roof, glass, insulation, or lighting, the building stood forlorn and abandoned. _The perfect hideout_. Izuru's feet slammed on to the bare floor. _Show yourself_. Izuru reached out for Vliss's mind. Her forefinger released her magazine. She caught the steel before it could strike the floor. _Very light. One-third capacity._ Izuru slipped the magazine in to an empty pouch and pushed a fully-loaded magazine in to the weapon. _Two full, one near-depleted._ Izuru brought the Lugo to low-ready and clamped her left thumb over the bore.

 _The human scent rubbing off on you, half-breed?_

 _The scent of their blood, Corsair. Yours shall flow in due course._

 _I have never killed a half-breed before._

Izuru thumbed the Lugo to 'auto'. _Taking no chances with you._

Naked rooms, grey as the dawn's early light, played host to shadows and dust. Izuru spied a handprint in the dust upon an opening. _Not so light-footed, Corsair._ Prints on the floor lead away from her. _No human leaves such imprint. Clumsy, flat-footed blunderers._ Izuru swept the interior of the adjacent room. _No doors to hide behind. Good. Where would I set up and await assault?_

Each room on Izuru's floor lay empty. _Where are you? Do not presume to think you can close your mind to me, lackey. Once I find you, I may take your scalp and pin it to my wall. You know Rangers have a reputation for scalping? At least those castes less inclined to rules and niceties. I have never scalped an albino before._

A cloak dragged across the floor above. _Bait me, will you?_ Izuru's hands held the Lugo steady. She glanced over her left shoulder at the straight passage. A black shape darted between rooms. Izuru swivelled about and pointed the Lugo down the passage. _Fifth room along_. Izuru tiptoed to the fourth room and swept it. _Now, do I have your attention?_ Turning to the wall separating her from the shape, Izuru squeezed the slack from the Lugo's trigger and poured a long burst of fire through the brick wall, walking the muzzle left to right. In the following silence, Izuru lay down on her back and pointed the Lugo at the wall. _Return fire, damn you_. Her eyes flitted between the bullet-riddled wall and the opening. Izuru shifted sideways, rolled on to her front, and regained her feet. With the corridor outside clear, Izuru hooked her finger around her trigger and moved in to the adjacent room. A corsair, dark-haired, lay on his side. Izuru rolled him over with her foot. _Another of Saarania's pawns. You will not be missed._

Boots slammed in to Izuru's side. Vliss let go of the rope and let his momentum carry the both of them in to the wall. Izuru's shoulder cracked against the brick. She yanked her knife from its sheathe and drove it in to Vliss's thigh. Vliss dropped to one knee, his lips drawn back over clenched teeth. Izuru dove for Vliss's neck, got ahold with both hands, and squeezed. The colour welled in Vliss's cheeks. He grinned. Izuru kicked at the bone handle of her knife and shoved Vliss over backwards. A bunch of Vliss's hair in her hands, Izuru bashed his head against the floor. Vliss ripped the knife from his thigh and pushed it at Izuru's throat. Izuru halted the blade and twisted Vliss's wrist around. _Make peace with your gods._ Izuru flipped her knife around, shiny with blood crystals, and plunged it underneath Vliss's chin, pushing it in up to the handle. _Not even that could wipe the smirk from your face, you bastard._ Izuru withdrew her knife and wiped the blade on Vliss's tunic. "Aahh…" Both arms tingled now. _Ilic…_

The floor buckled underneath Izuru and the Corsair. Weightless, Izuru fell backwards. Dust and rubble collapsed on top of her.

* * *

Black smoke darkened the haze, enough to blot out the sun's light. "What they burning out 'ere, tar?"

"Rubber."

"…Rubber." The scent stole up my nose and stuck to my tongue. "Sir, if you don't me askin', what's that chrono o' yours say?"

"Bugger all, Private. The one…One time I wanted it work." Pieyn's head drooped.

"Reckon it's about ten then, sir?"

"Can you hear engines? I've lost it in one ear."

"I dunno, sir." We're 'ere now." I helped Pieyn around a burnt-out car lying on its side in the centre of the street. A square with the cathedral at one end lay beyond. "Really outdid themselves with these roadblocks, didn't they, sir?"

Pieyn tutted. "Now all of a sudden they've got anti-tank weapons…"

"What you all doing on this side o' the river anyway, sir?"

"That's not for an OR to know, Private."

"Oh. Sorry, sir. Didn't mean to intrude – oi, careful! Sharp edges, lad. Don't touch." I took the boy's hand and pulled him away from the car. "Don't want any dirty cuts, do we?"

Rubble and heaps of broken furniture were piled in front of the cathedral's main doors. Other detritus packed the spaces in front of the two side doors. "Hey. Don't touch anything. Hold me 'and, son."

A smaller door, unobstructed and hidden away below street level, looked promising. "Door there." Pieyn opened the flap of his holster. "Give it a boot, Private. You, boy, stand behind him now."

"Yes, sir. Easy now." I sat Pieyn down upon the damp steps and banged on the door. The boy hid behind my legs. "Come on, open up you…" I lifted the hem of my jumper and tucked it behind the laspistol.

"I've got you covered, Private."

"Yes, sir." I gave the aged wood another thump. " _Come on_."

"Stand back, Private." Pieyn aimed his laspistol at the door. "I'll shoot the lock off."

"Sir, it's bolted, not locked." I pushed the boy aside and turned his head away. "Please, sir." A bolt ground across in its bracket. Wood scraped upon stone tiles. Hinges groaned.

"Hello, my son."

"You?" _What was his name again? The doorman._

"Brought guests, I see."

"Private?"

"S'alright, I know him from the Belladonna, sir."

"What, that whorehouse that went up in flames?"

"Yes, sir. I know, I've got explaining to do but—"

"It can wait. We need access to your premises, civilian."

"Nothing doing. I'm not the proprietor of this place of worship. That goes to the Almighty himself."

"Private, move in. Keep that weapon handy."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, Estoc. We really need in." I pushed at the door with one hand, my other hand digging the laspistol out.

"You're making a mistake, lad. I'll warn you once. Soldier-to-soldier." Estoc gave way.

"Come on, lad." I brought the boy in with me. "Sir?"

"Not quite unserviceable. You tell us how to get inside the spires and we'll leave everyone alone."

Estoc, backing away from us, sighed. "I'm sorry. I gave you one chance to leave. One favour from an old soldier to a young one, but…"

"Private!" Pieyn straightened his arm and leant against a row of pews. The muzzle of his laspistol pointed up at a row of rifles aiming down at us from a platform.

"Get down." I pushed the boy down and shrunk behind the pews. "Estoc!"

"Shit."

Estoc leant back against a pillar and folded his arms. "Everybody, stay cool. Let words be had before any idiot action happens. Wait for the boss."

"Boss?" Pieyn, ducking, pulled his beret off and stuffed it inside his smock. "Private, leave that weapon on the floor."

"Sir?" Pieyn took a grenade from his breast pocket. "Don't. _Don't_."

"When I throw this, take the boy out of that door, quick as you can." Pieyn planted a flare gun and a single cartridge in my hand. "Find a rooftop and fire this straight upwards. That's an order now."

"Sir." I stole a look at the rows of rifles.

"Okay…" Pieyn's thumb slipped through the pull-ring. His grip tightened on the spoon. "Standby."

I pulled the boy in to my arms and set his helmet straight. "Sshh. S'okay, son."

"Standby." The pull-ring clinked on the stones.

"Estoc! Why aren't you down in the crypts?" An old lady shuffled around the corner.

" _Tsk-tsk._ _Grandma!"_ Estoc flapped his hands at the woman. "Grandma, get!"

"Can't you control your old lady, Estoc?" A new voice rang out.

"Grandma, please." Estoc took his grandma by the shoulders and steered her away.

"Don't know why you're choosing to remain in the company of xenos. Xenos!"

"Xenos?" Estoc's brows shadowed his eyes.

"Xenos, where?" A grey-haired man pushed the gunmen aside and leant over the balustrade. "Take that soup pot off your head, son. Won't do you any good here."

"Who's he…?" Pieyn stared at the boy.

"Sir…" I lifted the ceramite from the boy's head.

"Oh, you traitor." Pieyn turned his laspistol towards the boy.

"Number ten, sir. S'not gonna happen."

"Do I have your attention, Joparr?" The grey-haired man said. "A xenos, a Joparr, and a civvy all standing in front of a firing squad. Shall I leave that up to you to come up with a punchline?"

"Arms down, my lads." Estoc returned. "Do what the boss says, and we'll talk like adults before anyone gets shot." Pieyn retrieved his pin and worked it back in to the grenade. He laid his laspistol on the floor next to mine. "Work with me here, Joparr. I'm not your servant." Estoc tapped his foot.

" _Son of a bitch_." Pieyn moved the weapons across the floor with his foot then rolled the grenade towards Estoc. " _Take the flare_ ," he murmured to me.

"Alright, stand up straight, you two. Face the man like good tin-pot troopers now."

"You're all dead men." Pieyn raised his hands and stood up. "D'you hear me?"

"Sir?" I held the boy tight against my side.

"Shuddup, Private."

"Like woodworms, you xenos. Can't get rid of you. Trying to find your mum, are you, son?"

"Estoc, what's the time?"

"Oi, keep that trap shut or I'll sew it shut!"

"About ten-ish. Why?" Estoc glared at his boss. "Boss, something's going down at ten."

"Listen, if I don't signal right fucking now it's gonna be a clean slate on this side of the river. Whitewash. A proper decoration job."

"How 'bout I do a proper decoration job on you?" The grey-haired man stepped back. "Paint this para red, boys, and get me his beret."

Pieyn's chest exploded. Blood gushed down his smock. His knees giving way, Pieyn's head hit the edge of a pew. "Oh, God!" I clutched the boy to me and turned away from the rifles.

"Veen, we could've used him!"

"Well, I drip-dried him, Estoc. I'll do the same to the child now."

"Wait! The governor's sending bombers to flatten this part of the city. That's what the officer was trying to tell you." I held up the flare gun. "Why else was he carrying this?"

"Alright, alright. I'll have that, my son." Estoc grasped my hand in his paw and took the flare gun. "It's all in control down here, Boss."

"I'll decide that down there, Estoc."

"Estoc, I've gotta get up in the tower…"

"Yeah-yeah, just wait a mo'."

"Has it gone ten?"

"What's so fucking important then, boy?" Veen, bodyguards in tow, stamped through the pews. "Talk to me!"

"I…"

A bang on the door and a civilian, white-faced, tumbled in. "Boss. You won't like this…"

* * *

Dirt seeped through Izuru's lips. Snapping her head up, she retched. _Kurnous, what was that?_ Blood crystals were smeared across Izuru's forehead. More of them coated her scalp. _Saarania._ Izuru shifted her hips. A crushing weight pressed against her chest. _I can't move._

A topknot appeared above her. Two bloodshot eyes beneath hairless brows blazed. Tree-trunk arms lifted the slab of ferrocrete and hurled it aside. Hands seized Izuru's neck and catapulted her in to the air. Ground and sky turned end over end. Izuru crashed against mud and rolled down a slope. Her elbows banged against the edges of ferrocrete pipes stacked atop one another. Needles ran up and down her arms and spine. Her lungs contracted. A lump lodged in her throat. _Where's my weapon?_ Izuru tugged at the non-existent weight on her shoulder. The sling remained but the clasp had snapped. _Kaela's ashes!_

The insides of the pipe dragging at her smock, Izuru wriggled through and slithered out the other side. Skeletal pillars and bare walls stood amongst acres of sandy dirt. Cranes reared their necks over the haze. Container-cities lined the edges of the construction site. Bipedal power-loaders, silent, bent over their folded claws.

Izuru planted a foot in the muck, put weight on it then lifted her other foot up. _Multiple lesions, sprained ankle, cracked ribs, check._ She hobbled along a row of single cabins. _Latrines?_ Each lock read 'vacant'. Izuru pulled the door to, leaving a tiny crack, and drew her pistol and checked the chamber. _Brass._ Her hand trembled. _Calm, calm. Close your mind. Ilic, Korsarro._

Boots traipsed between the latrines. The heaviest of them halted a few cabins back from Izuru's. Izuru jumped at the shriek of a Shuriken Catapult and clapped her hand over her mouth. A pair of monomolecular projectiles carved through the thin door and eviscerated whatever was inside. _Tuelean?_

"Please. Please do not fire. Our orders were to take her alive. We risk incurring Her—" A body fell to the catapult's cry.

"I saw nothing. Please, I saw nothing." Izuru transferred the pistol to her left hand, pushed open the door and leaned around the edge of the cabin. "Aargh!" A corsair, standing in front of Dragut with his back to Izuru, fell to his knees, two slugs lodged in his back. Dragut raised his catapult. Izuru wheeled back. Razor disks zinged past her. _Reload_. Izuru shook her empty free and inserted a loaded magazine. Her thumb flicked the release lever. Shuriken whizzed through the walls of the cabins. Izuru fled from the barrage, slid underneath a pile of iron girders then took cover in a trench. Up to her knees in muddy water, Izuru hacked a firing slit with her knife and leant against the side of the trench, leaving only the top of her head exposed.

Grenade launcher in hand, the brute crested the pile of girders then jumped over to the first floor of a building. There he walked along, loosing off round after round at the foundations below. Izuru hugged the trench, submerging her entire body but her head and weapon. Bursts of energy crackled overhead. Great orange wounds bubbled on the building's foundations. Supports frazzled and melted. Dragut tossed the launcher away and unclipped his Shuriken Catapult from his back. Izuru edged away from Dragut and slipped around the corner. Once out of his sight, Izuru crawled from the trench. Shuriken ricocheted around. Izuru blew water from a grenade and twisted the pin free. With one hand Izuru held the spoon down and dashed forwards. She twisted her wrist and bowled the grenade overarm. A _thud_ and a cloud of grey dust covered where Dragut had stood. _Where did he go?_

Flames cast an orange glow in the space underneath the foundations. Another grenade readied, Izuru stalked through the basement. Clicks came from around a corner. _No more ammunition?_ Izuru released the spoon and rolled the grenade around the corner. A moment later the grenade spun back. Bouncing off a foundation, the grenade came to rest at her feet. The burning fuse fizzled out. Izuru darted around the corner. Dragut held his catapult canted, a magazine of solid core ammunition in his hand. Izuru kicked the barrel away, smacked the back of her fist across Dragut's brow then swung a roundhouse with the same hand against his temple. Dragut toppled. Izuru grabbed for Dragut's head and smashed her knee against it. She found the hilt of her knife, unsheathed it, and stabbed Dragut's shoulder. On his back, the wraithbone embedded in his shoulder, Dragut hooked Izuru's foot with his own and dragged her over. Dragut's knuckles tore across Izuru's eyes. He pulled back his boot and kicked Izuru in her face.

Izuru's back dragged across a rough surface. Dragut shambled along, pinning Izuru's legs underneath his arm. Izuru's hand went to her pistol holster. _Where's my belt?_ Dirt and blood gummed up her eyes. The handle of her knife protruded from Dragut's shoulder. Dragut hauled Izuru around in a circle and laid her down near the edge of a drop. Blood crystals dribbled down his forehead and cheeks. His topknot was gone and his hair had exploded outwards. Dragut gnashed his teeth and drew a finger across his neck. The gashes on his face stretched. More blood spilled down his face. Dragut rose and planted a boot upon Izuru's chest. From a sheathe on his back, Dragut drew a Void Sabre. "By my hand, Dragut!"

 _Saarania!_ Dragut removed his foot and stepped out of Izuru's sight. Izuru wormed backwards and rolled on to her side. The floor began shaking. One long rumble buffeted the cold stone, dislodging dirt from the ceiling. _Earthquake?_ A stone wall on the far side of the site gave way. A long muzzle pushed a hole in the stone. A squat body crushed the debris under its tracks. _Kurnous…_ The tank's gun tube swung around and tilted up. A puff of smoke followed a split-second flash. Izuru rolled off the edge of the floor a second before the shell obliterated it. The shockwave punched her body mid-air.

 _My children_. Wind whipped a shroud of dirt over Izuru. A huge bite had been taken out of the side of the building. _Ilic, Korsarro, where are you?_ Izuru coughed. She dragged her fingernails through the dirt and clenched her hand. _If you let anything happen to my son, Whelp. My face will be the last you see._ Izuru dug her elbows in to the ground and propped herself up. Two trails of blood crystals had dried on her upper lip. A swelling puffed up her right eye. _Where are you, Corsair?_ Blood ran down from Izuru's scalp and dripped from her chin. Hunched over, Izuru staggered through the haze, her hand pressed against her ribs.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud._ Mechanical feet pummelled the earth. Izuru fell against a container and pulled herself behind it. A horn, something akin to an animal shriek, blared. A Krupnok opened up. Red tracers lanced through the air and hammered upon a bulbous canopy. Izuru jammed her fingers in her ears. A bipedal walker, shoulders bristling with plasma missiles, loped to the edge of the top level of the building and loosed off a salvo. Four thin bubbles of energy, pulsing with light, streaked at the tank. Izuru shut her eyes. Fuel and ammunition cooked off in a shower of pink sparks and yellow flame. The turret soared and crashed down amongst a row of power loaders. Jump-jets roared. The Wasp took off and landed at ground level and thudded around the construction site.

Flames bathing the blackened steel cast shadows across the power loaders. Izuru stumbled to the nearest power loader and lifted the locking bar up from the open cockpit. With the loader's knees bent, Izuru backed in to the seat and fitted the harness across her chest. _Left stick movement. Right stick arms. Triggers close the claws._ Izuru squeezed both triggers. A rivet gun mounted underneath the right claw fired a rivet at the loader's feet. _Loaded. Good_. Izuru pushed the left stick forwards. _And, momentum._

The Wasp shot up in to the sky, the jets propelling it towards the loader. Izuru raised the arms, spread the legs, and opened both claws to their widest. _Come on then._ The pilot eased the Wasp's thrust and brought it down on top of a stack of shipping containers. Izuru glared up at the pilot. _I know that face._

"WHERE IS HE?"

Saarania laughed and bent the Wasp's joints, tilting her cockpit sideways. "Not all the vermin of this planet could keep you apart it seems, Half-blood. You have your heir. I have mine. Let us part without further bloodshed."

"Spoken in the tone of the coward, hiding behind kowtowers, never committing until all your allies are dead. Where is your fleet, Thief?"

"An heir, an heir! My fleet for an heir!" The Wasp jumped. Izuru pawed at the ground then bowled at the incoming walker, a bellow rising in her throat. Steel crashed against armour-plate. Sparks ground as joints interlocked. Izuru screamed and pounded the Wasp's shoulder battery. A rivet shot inside a vent, mangling the slats. Saarania kicked at the loader's cockpit with the Wasp's hoof. The cage around Izuru shuddered. Izuru twisted a claw and clamped down upon the battery. Missile tubes ruptured and mutilated. Saarania fired her jump-jets. The Wasp's hooves left the ground. Still holding on to the missile tubes, Izuru kept the trigger clamped down. Saarania raised a tiny holdout lasblaster and aimed it out of her cockpit. Izuru released the trigger and jerked the loader sideways.

The Wasp took off and flew around to the rear of the loader. Izuru pivoted and loosed rivet after rivet. Saarania darted about the sky, only returning to the ground when her jets cut out. She skidded along a rooftop and slammed hooves-first against the loader's backside. Izuru hauled the sticks around and swung backwards in to a container stack, knocking dents in the surface. Saarania, trapped between two hard surfaces, fired her jump-jets, the force of them pushing the loader's feet away from the containers. Izuru surged forward, twisting and letting fly with more rivets. Saarania killed her jets and landed behind a pile of pipes. The Wasp leapt atop them and dislodged the pile, kicking the pipes at the loader. Izuru backpedalled and lowered both claws to brush the ground. Each rolling pipe she caught built up a wall of ferrocrete. Saarania hopped over the mass and latched on to the loader's brow. Izuru jerked her stick back and spun, shunting Saarania down a canyon bordered by containers. Her right hand brought the loader's claws up. Saarania's jets fired and she crashed in to the underside of a container straddling the gap. Energy sparked from the twin nozzles jutting from the Wasp's neck. "Half-breed whore!" The Wasp's hooves stampeded against the loader's face. "Human-lover!"

 _This half-breed whore gives you all you deserve._ Izuru pulled her triggers down and smashed Saarania between walls. Wild lasblaster beams spattered the loader's frame. Izuru's left claw slackened. Izuru squeezed the trigger but the left claw remained open. Saarania kicked away from Izuru, backflipped, and spun, landing facing away from her. _Oh, no. Thou shalt not flee from me._ Izuru chased after Saarania. Her rivet gun chugged, dinging off the Wasp's legs and rear armour. _Let blood meet blood._ The Wasp's left leg joint cracked. Izuru struck the Wasp and flung it over on its front. Fire shot from the exhausts. With its last ounces of thrust, Saarania lifted up in to the air and sent the smoking walker rocketing at the loader. The canopy opened and Saarania jumped on to the loader's cage. Her lasblaster poked through it. Izuru took her hand off the left stick and grabbed the barrel. She kicked at Saarania's shin and tilted the right stick but the claws could not reach far enough inwards. Saarania punched the release on Izuru's chest and dove underneath the locking bar. Her hand wrenched at Izuru's smock and pulled her from the seat.

Corsair and Ranger landed in the mud. Saarania's hand swept through a mess of broken bricks and grasped one. Izuru beat the back of Saarania's neck and clawed at her eyes. Saarania lashed out and struck Izuru in the mouth. Blood and teeth flew. Izuru's elbow whacked Saarania in the eye. She rolled on to the Princess and rammed her fist straight down in to her face. Each smack and more blood spilled from her knuckles. Izuru howled with each blow, beating Saarania again and again. Saarania, blood in her eyes, flicked a shiv from her sleeve and punched through Izuru's ribs.

"Recall. Recall. Recall." Saarania pushed Izuru away and ran off nearly bent double. Izuru spat out bloody teeth and picked herself up. Shoulders hunched, head down, Izuru tottered after Saarania. _Stars, shield your eyes. Let your gaze not see my blackest desires._

Saarania fled across open ground, stumbled, and fell to one knee. Izuru plucked a metal pipe from an open casket and gripped it in both hands. "How can a princess of Corsairs envy a half-breed outcast. How, I ask? I had it all…"

"You are naught but a walking shadow." Izuru raised the pipe over her head. "Embrace this mother's light." Izuru brought the pipe down upon Saarania's head. Bone caved in. The body swayed and fell sideways. _Ilic._ Izuru dropped the blood-encrusted pipe and wiped the back of her hand across her upper lip. Izuru managed a few steps away from the body before her knees gave out and she landed flat on her back. _My son. I have failed you._

A cyclone of dust swirled around Izuru. A shimmering shape hovered above her. Active camouflage peeled back from the wing of a starship. _Rhazus._ Warm, dry air gushed over Izuru. A pair of glowing exhausts cooled. A ramp underneath the nozzles lowered and a single Corsair descended. Lasblaster in hand, the Corsair knelt over the Princess. Izuru groaned, straining her muscles to sit up straight. She bit down upon a whimper and worked the shiv out from between her ribs. The blade in her hand, Izuru threw the shiv in to the Corsair's back. He clawed at the blade in his spine and came to lie beside his mistress. Izuru dragged her body over to the Corsair and took his lasblaster.

One hand pressed against the knife-wound, Izuru held the lasblaster out in front of her and boarded the _Rhazus._ The needle in her side burned. Izuru blinked away a blur in her sight. The lasblaster's muzzle wobbled. The portal to the bridge opened. Izuru leant against the edge and pointed her weapon at a Corsair pilot. The Corsair's mouth fell open. "By the stars, please do not shoot." He raised his hands and turned around to face Izuru. "Is it true?"

"Weapons."

"A holdout behind that panel next to the co-pilot's seat. Is it true?"

"Where is he?"

"Locked in the Princess's quarters. Please do not shoot."

"Open the panel."

"Here." The pilot held the holdout by his thumb and forefinger and tossed it at Izuru's feet. "I fly Her Eminence. I am not a warrior."

"And now you fly me." Izuru patted the deck and took the holdout.

"I must see Her Eminence."

"Unlock her quarters." Izuru flicked the lasblaster. "Quickly."

"Yes." The pilot lowered his eyes and kept his hands raised. "It is just aft of the bridge."

Izuru backed out of the bridge and motioned the pilot forwards with her weapon. "Do it." Izuru propped herself against the curving bulkhead and covered the pilot. "Is there anyone else aboard? If you lie, you die."

"Just my co-pilot. Is he…?"

"Silence. Return to the bridge and prep the ship for departure."

"Will you allow me to collect their Waystones?"

"Wait." Izuru took her hand from her side and drew the holdout. "Go in."

"Yes."

"Ilic?"

"Mother?" Ilic's voice came from a side-cabin.

"Open that door." The pilot unsealed the cabin and stepped back. "Face the wall."

"Yes, my lady."

"My child." Izuru scooped up a tiny form rushing at her and hugged him. "Isha, I was so worried."

"Where is my brother? Where is Korsarro?"

"In safe hands, my son. Please, you must stay here and await my return."

"No, _no!_ Korsarro needs me."

"And I need you safe and sound right here."

"Is the Princess…?"

"Stay here." Izuru set Ilic down and gestured with her lasblaster. "Corsair, outside."

"Mother?" Ilic ran to the door.

Izuru sealed it in front of him and jerked the lasblaster. "Now."

"No!" The pilot threw himself down beside the Princess's body. "Oh, Brother-of-mine. Mistress, dear."

Izuru heard a drone and peered up at the flecks of white cloud. Twin-engined planes, high up in the sky, flew in loose groups of three; their flight-path leading them directly overhead. " _No…_ " Their bellies opened. In each one, dozens of bombs rattled. "No, Korsarro!" Izuru's fingers dug through her hair, tearing at the loose strands matted together with blood. _Isha, please. Spare him._

A tiny flare rose from the cathedral spire. At its zenith, the sun blossomed in to half a dozen crackling balls of red light. The bomber leading the point group dumped a red parachute flare from its bomb-bay then peeled away to the north. Group by group, the bombers retracted their doors and turned north. Izuru collapsed to her knees and sobbed.

* * *

"Estoc. Promise me they won't hurt the boy."

Estoc paused on the stairs above me. "That's up to the boss. It's his mouth that does the decisions, son. I'm just an enforcer."

"Well look, you've got pull with this Veen bloke…"

"What's so important about this _xenos_ child, young man? Kinda irregular having such a soft spot for that type."

"Oi. Anything 'appens and his mother will kill me. She will _kill_ me, Estoc, 'cause I found her kids – both of 'em – in the slums and I took care of 'em."

"Why the fuck…?"

"The Crotch didn't train me to zip weans, even xenos ones."

"Stinks that. Don't get too close to that woman. She's a nightmare in the ring."

"Uh?"

"Where d'you think I got these lumps from, boy? Look, I can't promise anything. It's all down to the boss."

"Who is he anyway?"

"And it depends what sorta mood he's in too so if I was you, I'd sing dumb. You 'ear me? Sing dumb or end up like that para." Estoc opened the door leading out of the spire and took me down a short flight of stairs back to the ground floor. "Job's done, Boss. Won't be hearin' from the Guv'nor now. Boss? Boss?"

"Looks a right fairy, this boy does." Veen, Joparr beret perched on his head, pushed the boy in to the light. "You done jumping up and down, waving your arms, Estoc? I want my prize fighter back in the ring for the third round once John comes back with the stickie."

"Right, Boss." Estoc tapped me on the shoulder. "He wants the boy."

"Does he now? Well, I've got news for you, son. When I find out I've got my armour kills from John, I'll let you off the hook. But until then, you're going nowhere."

"And the other stickie?"

 _Other stickie?_

"Put a lid on it, Estoc. Go check on your grandma."

"Alright. You just sit down over there, my son. Go on." Estoc nudged me.

 _So, is that it then?_ I sat with my back against an outcrop upon cold stone tiles and rubbed an ache in my knee. _No thanks from anybody?_ The boy scampered out of Veen's reach and sat next to me. His hand worked underneath my arm and he leant his head against my shoulder. Veen grunted and turned away. "'Bout time for a brew-up."

"She'll come," I murmured, putting an arm around the boy's shoulders. _Wonder if she'll thank me? Probably not. I'll be lucky if she doesn't kill me._ I thought of the Joparr officer. _Would he really have turned his weapon on the boy? What sort of monster do you have to be to even consider that?_ My eyelids drooped. _They don't care, the Guard. Anyone who isn't with them is xenos. That's an absolute, isn't it?_

The side door thumped. " _Oi_." I roused the boy.

"Boss, someone's out there!"

"Can we get some shooters up here, please?"

Estoc moved between the staggered rank of rifles and pushed muzzles down. "Keep a civil demeanour, fellas. No negligent discharges please."

"Is that John back?" Veen's head bobbed behind the gaggle of militia. "Open her up, Estoc." Estoc shifted the bolt and pulled the door open.

" _Oh, my God_." I covered the boy's eyes. The woman I had known as Tyssa stumped through the door. Any semblance of colour in her skin had been drained from its usual pale hue to a grey. Black muck and strange reddish crystals weeping from cuts and scrapes had dried all over her face. The pupil of her right eye had swollen. Everything around it had turned red. Similar wounds glittered on her arms, hands, and legs. A pained, almost tortured expression dogged her. The boy belted at his mother and attached himself to her leg.

"So. Waste any tanks out there, stickie?" Veen sneered. "John not coming back?"

"Hold on, Boss. Let me verify," said Estoc. "I need two runners heading out on the quad."

"You're trying my patience, Estoc."

"Just… This can all be resolved peacefully, Boss? Seeing as one massacre's just been averted."

"All thanks to you, yeah?"

Estoc glanced at me. "Yeah, Boss."

"Well go and confirm my kills then. You, boy. Stay there."

Estoc returned within ten minutes and took Veen aside for a private word. _God, what happened to her?_ Tyssa's expression remained rigid. Twin lines ran between her eyebrows.

"Alright." Veen nodded and whistled to a bodyguard. He had a quiet word with him then sent Estoc away. "Stone floor won't do your arsehole any good there, lad. Get Haemorrhoids, you will."

"Uh?" I scrambled to my feet.

Veen took my arm and bent to whisper in my ear. "You're a lucky little sod, Private. I'll be watching you from 'ere on." Veen then moved over to Tyssa and clasped his hands in front of him. "In ten minutes, I blow the whistle, and the pitchforks and hatchets come out. If you're dumb enough to still be on this planet, it'll be your child up in the noose. D'you understand me, xenos?"

"Boss, the stickie." Estoc guided a shackled Saeros through the militia. Bare-chested, Saeros's white flesh was covered in grazes and scratches. He looked on the verge of weeping when he saw Tyssa.

"Unlock him, Estoc." Veen blew his nose and sniffed. "Go on." Estoc unbound Saeros and pushed him at Tyssa. "See 'em out."

"Thank you." I offered Estoc a handshake once we were outside.

"You won't be thanking me when the dogs find you, son. I suggest you split up and run your arse off for the river. Run. Now." Estoc shooed at me.

"I have a ship." Tyssa gasped.

"I'm not leaving the lad 'til he's off-world." I picked up Tyssa's son and bore him in my arms.

"I don't care. You're putting a gun to your own 'ead and pulling the trigger by helping her. Why?"

"It's my choice." I shrugged. "Did the Guard ever give you a choice?" Estoc, glaring, said nothing and retreated inside the cathedral.

"Hurry." Tyssa's voice quivered. Saeros gabbled something. A quick-fire exchange began. Saeros supported Tyssa and I held on to the boy. With Joparr's and the bombers' departure, the streets had grown quiet. Infrequent gunshots split the silence.

"Where we goin', Tyssa?" I moved alongside the two. "God, you look right done in." Tyssa's lips pursed and parted. "You done something to your ribs?"

" _Mmmn_." Tyssa winced.

"You look both done in." I hoisted the boy higher up.

"Not Tyssa."

"Uh?"

" _Not. Tyssa_ ," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

 _Phut. Phut. Phut._ Saeros and I looked at one another. The street exploded behind us, great clouds of earth flying up and darkening the sky. An invisible wave threw us forwards. Gongs banging in my ears, I picked the boy up and wrenched at Saeros's shoulder. "Up! Get up, they're mortars!" Saeros lifted the woman in to his arms and ran after me. "Where we going? I don't know where we're going!"

Saeros pointed me along a street with a burnt-out bus parked lengthways across it. I ducked underneath a burst water pipe and sloshed through a puddle. Explosions stalked along the street behind. Saeros tripped on a bit of stone and lost the woman. "Switch over!" I passed Saeros the lad and helped the woman up. "Not passing out on us, I hope." I patted her cheek. "Cor, they really ran you through the mill, didn't they?"

The woman's cough became a wheeze. _"Uom ual!"_

" _Jukath!"_

Shells stomped after us, pitching fragments high in the sky. "Where's your ship then?"

The woman's head lolled. "…Construction site."

"Yeah, I can see a crane. Is that it?"

"Mmm." Her brow furrowed. "The flare..."

"What about it?"

"You?"

"Err, yeah. Estoc helped me out though."

"Good. Good."

The number of cranes in sight grew. Barebones buildings surrounded by scaffolding replaced the tumble-down shanties. Machinery and tools rattled. The steady _whump_ of incoming fire slackened. _Are we getting out of range?_

"There. There." The woman croaked.

"Yeah. Looks familiar, don't it? That looks _really_ familiar. What's it doin' 'ere then?" Two bodies were arranged beside one another. Both were Corsairs. "Oi, that's her. That's her innit?"

"Let me go."

"Alright. You okay to walk?"

Saeros set the boy down and extended his hand to the woman. She brushed it aside and turned to me. "Izuru Numerial. He is Korsarro. My son. His twin is Ilic."

The hairs on my arms stood on end. With a dry mouth I said, "…James Larn – Arvin James Larn."

Izuru clasped my wrist and drew me to her. Our shoulders touched. "Thank you. This will not be forgotten." Izuru's hand went limp. Her knees bent and she fell against me.

"Saeros, help!" I got my hands underneath Izuru's armpits and laid her out on the ground. "She's – she's passed out. Can you…?"

Saeros, his face contorting, picked up Izuru and carried her inside the ship. Ilic barrelled down the ramp and hugged his brother. I grinned. "Going home now, lads." Both rushed at me and threw their arms around my chest. The ship's engines purred. Light grew inside the nozzles. A mortar round exploded not far away. "Got to go now, boys. You've got to go." Saeros reappeared and spoke to the twins. He met my eyes and bowed his head. I nodded back and stepped away from the growing warmth. The boys looked back at me as the ramp rose and raised their little hands. I waved and gave them a thumbs-up. Rising above the rooftops, the ship turned around and cast off in to the sky, quickly becoming lost in the clouds. " _Goodbye_."

Mortars began stonking the area. I fled in to a passage between storage crates and hid. Once the barrage had passed, I listened to the rattle and grind or armour and the shouting coming closer. _No sense hiding here anymore. What's done is done._ I got up and moved out from the hiding spot. Soldiers in black combats and facemasks were appearing in the far corners of the site with armour following. The bodies of the two corsairs had remained. _No time for a burial then. I suppose I'll be lying alongside them soon enough._ I counted down my last seconds of freedom and put my hands in the air.


End file.
